


Chiaroscuro

by A_Farnese



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur/Merlin - Freeform, Depression, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Pining Arthur, Romance, modern merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months have passed since Arthur came home, but the shadow of war still hangs over him. Then a young artist stumbles into his life, offering him a chance to find healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Merlin' and its characters are not mine. No money is being made from this.
> 
> Warnings for some language and sensuality.
> 
> A big thank you to Staymagical for beta reading for me!

_It begins with a spark._

_The quiet ‘shwick’ of a lighter followed by a flare that dims into a single flame lighting two shadowed eyes and the butt of a cigarette. The light goes out, save for the tiny ember._

_Not wanting to stare, he looks up to where the inkblot trees reach toward the purpling sky, then back down again, searching for a hint of the angelic face he’d glimpsed._

_It’s gone. The shadows are too deep to find anything within them, but the autumn leaves are thick enough that no one should be able to move without making a sound._

_There is no sound._

_No one’s there._

_He pauses for a moment, waiting for that face to reappear, for a sound to betray the other’s presence, but nothing happens. Time is pressing, though. After a long glance back into the shadows, he hurries through the park gates. He has places to be after all, and even beauty must make way for time._

 

* * *

 

 _“..._ _Because beauty’s nothing_  
_but the start of terror we can hardly bear,_  
_and we adore it because of the serene scorn_  
_it could kill us with. Every angel’s terrifying.”_

 _-_ Rainer Maria Rilke  
‘The First Elegy’

 

* * *

 

They met up at a little Moroccan restaurant off Queensway. It was a hole in the wall sort of place, tiny and almost overfilled with decorations, but with warm lighting and a welcoming atmosphere. The front door was a few steps below street level, making it easy to miss and he did, walking all the way down to the white terraced houses and hotels by the gardens. He checked himself and doubled back, his steps hurried when he realized his error. It wouldn’t do to be late. He’d never hear the end of it. Especially from Gwaine. Captain Arthur Pendragon always valued punctuality.

He wouldn’t have chosen this place. Couscous wasn’t his first choice of the foods available in London, but it was Lance’s birthday so it was his choice. He’d hardly seen Lance or the others in the six months since their final tour had ended, preferring to keep to himself and not bother the others with his own problems and doubts. But when Gwen hand-delivered the invitation to his door, he couldn’t say no.

Arthur checked his watch before descending the steps and ducking through the low door. He still had a few minutes but most of them were already there, filling half the tables in the place even before everyone had arrived. He opened the door, the rush of warm air and excited conversation bringing a faint smile to his face. It was a welcome contrast to the grey day that had turned into a drizzly night.

Gwen saw him first, a brilliant smile lighting her face as she hopped up to greet him with a ferocious hug. “Arthur!” she laughed. “I didn’t know if you were going to come tonight. I’m glad you did.” She helped him peel off his rain-damped coat and slung it over the back of the chair Lance pulled out for him.

“I’m glad you made it,” Lance said, his dark eyes sparkling. There was a hint of concern in them, too. Arthur did his best to wave it off.

“I couldn’t say no to Gwen’s invitation, could I? Not when she brought it herself. If it’d come by regular post, well, then. . . “ he trailed off, shrugging, as though the invitation would have been worth less to him had it simply been mailed.

Gwen swatted him on the arm. “If I’d mailed it, I would have called and called, and probably emailed you every hour, on the hour, until you said ‘yes’. And if you hadn’t showed, we’d have gotten takeaway and stormed your front door.” Arthur had to laugh at that. “Six months you’ve all been back, and we’ve only seen you the once. I’m starting to think you don’t like us anymore.” Gwen pouted. With her big, chocolatey brown eyes and the curls artfully framing her face, the puppy-dog look was devastating.

“Arthur only likes his own pretty face, Gwen. You know that.” Gwaine flicked a spoonful of water across the table, splashing Arthur in the face with it. His aim was unerring as ever.

“What are you, seven years old?” Arthur wiped the water from his nose and cheek. He had to fight the urge to flick his own spoonful of water at Gwaine.

“It’s not a bad thing to let the inner child out once in a while,” Gwaine said.

“And that explains why you weren’t promoted. Your inner child pulled a few too many pranks on a few too many of the higher ups, and it was only through the intervention of a certain Captain that you didn’t get thrown into the brig or demoted. Or both.” Arthur raised an eyebrow

“And I appreciate that,” Gwaine said, one hand over his heart as though that would make his words more sincere. “All I’m saying, Arthur, is that letting yourself relax a time or two is no bad thing. It’s healthy, in fact. And you’re a bloke who likes healthy, so relax once in a while.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Gwaine’s cheek may have lightened the mood in tense situations, but it was grating against his nerves just now. “I’d like to see you try to relax with my father and my sister only as far away as the next phone call.”

“Oh, I could relax with Morgana around. Those eyes, those-”

“She’d eat you alive,” Arthur said, cutting Gwaine off before he could start the list. It was a long list. Gwaine had been through it many times before, and every time Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted to recoil with revulsion from the mental images of his _sister_ like that, or punch Gwaine into next Tuesday for thinking of _his sister_ like that. He usually settled for a steely glare that sometimes put Gwaine off.

“I’d die a happy man.”

“Anyway.” Lance rolled his eyes at Gwaine’s antics and wrapped a protective arm around Gwen, a not-so-subtle warning in the glare he sent the other man’s way. “How is your father, Arthur? Still lording over us little commoners in the House of Lords?”

“Still. Forever. He’s been shoving all this governmental shit my way like he’s going to die next week and I’m bound to take up his seat there.” Arthur scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“He’s not, is he? Dying, I mean?” Gwen asked. The waiter returned and poured them each a cup of steaming mint tea before he disappeared, coming back again with dishes of elegantly sliced and cooked vegetables, couscous, and sauces. “We went ahead and ordered a variety of things. Decided to make it a sort of do-it-yourself sort of thing. That way, everyone could try whatever they wanted.”

“That’s fine with me. And Uther’s doing just fine, much to Britain’s dismay.” Arthur stabbed a piece of aubergine harder than he intended, his fork clacking against the tray with enough force to chip it if it’d been ceramic instead of metal. He winced. “It would help if he didn’t have an opinion on every tiny thing that popped up in the news, whether it’s here or wherever. At dinner last Friday, he was going on about how all these thirty-something women in Japan don’t get married these days, and how it’s destroying the Japanese economy. And neither Morgana or I could get a word in edgewise to tell him we just didn’t care. It’d be nice to just have a normal conversation for once.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s your birthday, Lance, and here I am bitching about my father. You’ve heard enough of that. Let’s talk about something interesting, shall we?”

Arthur didn’t miss Lance’s almost-hidden sigh of relief. He took a bite of aubergine and poked at the couscous on his plate to hide his smirk. The boys all knew that outside of incompetent army officials and second rate supplies, Uther Pendragon was the subject that wound Arthur up the most. They endured his rants in silence, but... Now wasn’t the time. “Yes, let’s. Although I don’t know what that’s going to be. Football’s been awful lately, and it’s not like the weather is any better...”

 

* * *

 

After dinner, when they’d finished off pot after pot of mint tea and demolished half a kitchen’s worth of food, Arthur bid the lads farewell, waving off their pleas to head to a bar in a sketchier part of the city. Gwaine had even offered to buy all Arthur’s drinks for the night, but given that Gwaine’s tastes ranged from ‘cheap and foul’ to ‘mildly expensive and foul’, Arthur was never inclined to take him up on it. Leon never pushed when he sensed Arthur wasn’t in the mood for whatever was being suggested, and Elyan had taken a quiet cue from Gwen and kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he opted for a quiet walk with Lance and Gwen through Hyde Park. The Tube would have gotten them all home faster, but it didn’t have a fraction of the charm of walking through a misty London night with friends.

“So how are you really, Arthur?” Gwen asked once they’d run the traffic gauntlet crossing Bayswater Road and passed into the relative quiet of the park. There were far fewer people by night- just one fellow out walking his dog and a couple of joggers, their strides even as they chatted with each other. Arthur noticed that he and Lance had unconsciously put Gwen between them, to shield her from any threats that might pop up in the middle of the park.

“I’m fine,” Arthur said when the silence went on too long, and Gwen’s eyebrows started to rise as she looked up through her eyelashes at him. “Perfectly fine,” he insisted. “I go out, I read books, I listen to Morgana going on about her law clients and my father droning on about parliament. I poke about his office, like that’s going to help me take his position someday.”

“Have you met anyone?” Gwen’s eyebrows rose higher. “And by met, I mean-”

“No. I haven’t. And if I had, Morgana would have chased her off by now. I swear, that woman has a sixth sense about these things. She’s a menace.” What Arthur wouldn’t admit to was being secretly pleased that his sister drove away most of the women who envisioned themselves as the future trophy wife of Arthur Pendragon. And she did it without making them angry or vengeful enough to provoke a scandal. But Morgana had always been better at the political game than Arthur was. He’d once jokingly accused her of witchery one night, when a noted rumour-monger of an overdone and foolish blonde had poked at Arthur to the point that he’d nearly blown up at her. Morgana had waltzed in, defused the situation, and insulted the blonde so eloquently she’d thought herself the Queen of the World and wandered off with a dazed smile on her face.

“Morgana’s just looking out for her little brother. Only wants the best for him, doesn’t want some cheap piece of fluff to snatch him up because he got a bit pissed one night and couldn’t tell substance from dross. She told me as much.” Gwen took Arthur’s arm, looking inordinately pleased, though he couldn’t tell if it was because she had two handsome men to hand, or because she had some bit of insight straight from Morgana.

“I’d love to know when I was the topic of conversation between you two,” Arthur said drily.

“Oh, just a girls’ night at the spa.” Gwen smiled up at him, a secret sparkling in her eyes. “Just so you know, Morgana has a weak spot when it comes to champagne. Give her a few glasses, ask the right questions, and she’ll spill her life’s history like she was a giggly thirteen-year old.”

“That sounds like an expensive way to pry secrets out of someone you’ve known since you were fifteen,” Lance said, laughing.

“Every woman has her secrets,” Gwen said loftily. “I bet you’d love to know what Morgana’s keeping from you.”

“I certainly would,” Arthur said.

“Too bad. There are some things about a woman a man is never intended to know. Especially when that man is her brother.” Gwen elbowed Lance in the ribs. “And don’t think you’ll pry them out of me, o husband mine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m not sure I could bear the weight of Morgana’s secrets, anyway. Can’t say it sounds like anything I’d want to have to deal with. Besides. She’d turn that sixth sense on me, and then I’d feel like I was under scrutiny all the time, and she’d get that look on her face when she’s about to turn someone’s world upside down. I’ve had quite enough of that, thank you. I’m quite happy being ignorant of Morgana’s deep, dark secrets.” Lance twined his fingers around Gwen’s and raised her hand to his lips. “There’s only one woman whose secrets I care about.”

“You two are sickly sweet, you know that?” Arthur rolled his eyes, exaggerating his mock-disgust at their affection. He looked away, caught sight of the particular bench under the particular tree where he’d seen an angelic face lit by the too-brief flash of a lighter. Whoever it was was gone, of course. He wouldn’t expect anyone to loiter around a park bench for hours on end just so Arthur Pendragon could catch a glimpse of him. He’d have to chalk it up to another missed opportunity.

“Arthur? Is something wrong?” Gwen tugged at his arm, and Arthur realized he’d let the silence linger too long.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just remembered something is all, Nothing important.” He flashed her a smile that he hoped looked genuine, and she seemed convinced by it. And even if she wasn’t, he was saved by a sign. “I think this is your stop,” he said, nodding toward the Underground station that would take them to Embankment, and home from there.

“It’s your stop, too,” Lance said.

“I know. But it’s a good night for walking, and my flat’s not that far away. I go farther than this during my morning runs.”

“You’re sure?” Gwen asked.

“Quite sure.” Arthur squeezed her arm to reassure her, then let go.

“All right, then. But don’t be such a stranger, Arthur. We’d love to have you come ‘round and see the house sometime. You haven’t been over since we moved in. You’d hardly recognize it. We’ve painted and everything. And there’s the puppy. Little Cabal. You’d love him. He’s a little ball of fluff right now, but he’s getting big so fast!” Gwen’s frown turned to a brilliant smile at the mention of the dog. Arthur remembered seeing a post about it on Facebook, with the fuzzy white face and a few dozen exclamation points at her announcement of the canine addition to the family.

“I will bring dog treats, then. Just let me know what day works for you, and I’ll try to escape my father’s machinations for the evening. I promise.” Arthur looked Gwen in the eye, giving her his most innocent expression. It was apparently enough to mollify her.

“We’ll hold you to it, then. Expect a call soon. And another one if you don’t respond, and a hundred more if you try to get out of it. I know where you live. And promise me you’ll get out more often. Go out to a play, see the world, meet someone interesting. Your father can’t keep you that busy all the time.” She tapped the tip of his nose with a stern finger. Arthur’s eyes crossed looking at it.

“Yes, Ma’am.” His voice was as snappy as if he’d been addressing a drill sergeant.

“All right, then.” Gwen’s stern tone softened, and she reached up to give him a hug. Lance declined to mirror the gesture, clapping Arthur on the shoulder instead.

“It was good to see you, Arthur. Come by the house any time, alright?”

“I will. And happy birthday, Lance.” He waved them off, waiting until they’d disappeared into the station before he turned and headed up the street. Without their company the air felt colder, the fog suddenly heavier. Arthur turned his collar up and jammed his hands in his pockets to ward off the chill as he made his way home, the city lights blurring together as he walked, his steps directed by muscle memory and not any conscious thought of his own.

He had half a mind to head back to the park and wander about for a while, see if that angel-eyed man was still there. But his rational mind took over. _‘There are eight million people in London. What are the chances you’re going to find one person in the middle of all of that?'_

None. Or close enough to it that it didn’t make any difference.

_'Stop torturing yourself. He was just a bloke you saw for a few seconds. You pass attractive people all the time. It’s nothing new.'_

Intellectually, he knew it. But his heart wouldn’t be so easily convinced.

 

* * *

 

 He followed Gwen’s advice and got out of his flat. On Saturday, he wandered into a Waterstones and spent an hour and a half perusing the shelves and smirking at the clever book displays and their cheeky signs. He had to pick something eventually, though, so he grabbed the one that looked the most interesting from the bestseller list. _The Queen’s Tapestry_ was some sort of historical fiction novel involving the chivalrous romance between a knight and the English queen. The store clerk said it had been short-listed for numerous literary prizes and was the talk of every librarian and hip bookseller in London.

By Monday, Arthur was 237 pages into the 652 page tome, and still wondering if reading the thing made him smart, hip, or just intolerably pretentious. No one at the coffee shop gave him a second glance when he dropped it on the table, not even Giovanni the Italian Barista, the constant flirt Arthur might have asked out if asking someone for a date while they were working wasn’t completely gauche. Besides. GIovanni flirted with everyone, and Arthur suspected the man didn’t lack for company in his off hours. No one was that happy to be slinging coffee drinks at Starbucks.

Still. There were always possibilities, even if they were only in the imagination.

Arthur ordered his usual- a latte and a blueberry muffin- and plopped down into the chair, scraping it along the last few inches before it hit the wall. He opened the book, set the marker aside, eyes wandering over the page for a minute before he set his mind to reading again. He tried to lose himself in the story of medieval England the way the knight was losing himself to his hopeless love for a queen who was endlessly above his station. Unrequited love never seemed to go out of fashion. He turned the page, took a bite of the muffin, a sip of coffee, and for a moment, the noise of the coffee shop dimmed, shuffling away from his consciousness as though he were finally melting into the story. Then the sounds returned in full.

Someone was staring at him.

He looked up, eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of a soldier spotting enemies in a crowd. Across the way, a young couple had tuned out the rest of the world, their hands intertwined, their knees touching under the table as they shared some private joke. Three teenagers sat together, but were too busy texting to notice each other. Unless he was in danger of being bored to death by the literary theories of the students at the crowded central table, there was no threat there. And no one staring at him, either, Maybe it had been the ginger tourist who almost fit in, or the gangly man tucked away in the table by the front door. He was staring at the pad of paper in front of him, brows knit in concentration as he attacked the paper with a bit of pencil grasped between spidery fingers.

Arthur tried not to stare, but there was something familiar about him. He’d seen this man before, if only half-glimpsed in passing. It was hard to forget a face like that.

The man paused in his sketching and looked up.

Their eyes met across the crowded room.

 _‘What a cliche.’_ Arthur almost blushed at the absurdity, his lips twisting into a wry grin at the thought of any part of his life taking notes from some daft romantic comedy. The other man’s expression turned confused, a clueless smile lighting his features. A look of ‘I’m-sorry-but-what?’ spread across his face, and he tilted his head in the way that only dogs, teenage girls, and _this_ man could get away with, a delightful confusion in his sapphire eyes.

Arthur shook his head, a slight movement, as though to say, ‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean anything by it’. He looked away, fighting the urge to look back up at the man. Blue Eyes, he dubbed him. Arthur buried his nose in the book instead, pretending it was the most fascinating thing in the world while trying to figure out where he’d seen the man before.

His latte had cooled by the time he risked a glance back. Blue Eyes was gone. Two girls, Chinese if he heard their chatter right, had squeezed into the miniscule space in his place. Arthur tried not to let disappointment color his mood or his face. _‘Another chance lost.’_ He looked back at the book, the words blurring on the page.

Someone brushed his arm. It might have been an accident.

“Sorry, mate.”

Arthur looked up and into Blue Eyes’s eyes. A grin split the man’s face. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just headed for the door.” Blue Eyes paused half a second too long, lips parted as though here was about to ask or answer a question. Mischief sparked in his eyes. His grin widened, and he turned on his heel and slipped out the door, favoring Arthur with a backward glance before tucking his hands in his pockets and losing himself in the human stream outside.

Arthur collapsed against the back of his chair. His head banged against the wall with a muffled thud. “ _You can’t even take an opportunity when it’s smiling right at you. For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”_

He pressed a hand to his face, fingers stretching across to press against both temples and ward off a headache before letting the hand drop back to the table. A scrap of paper fluttered up into the air, almost shimmering as it caught the sunlight then flitted back into shadow as it fell toward the floor. Arthur caught it between two fingers, somehow not crumpling it as he did so. He turned the paper around and looked at it, confused.

There was a number on it.

A phone number, written in the sort of careless scrawl one would expect from  a mad, pencil-wielding artist in a coffee shop.

_“Check that.”_

A pencil-wielding, flirtatious, coffee shop artist. Who else would “accidentally” bump into someone who clearly wasn’t in the way in order to leave off a phone number?

Definitely a flirt.

Or maybe he really was mad.

Arthur choked down the last of his now-cold latte, as though that alone would kill off the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach. He tucked the paper scrap into the book and quickly shut it as though the scrap would fly away if he didn’t close it away in a cage of words. Tossing the cup in the bin, Arthur zipped his coat and slipped the book under his arm. Once outside with his sunglasses firmly in place, no one could tell he was scanning the crowd, looking for Blue Eyes. Maybe no one else would care if they caught him looking, but Arthur cared.

Perhaps the world had moved on enough that one man could love another without society giving him so much as a second glance. Without thinking that he was less of man for knowing what and who he wanted. Even the army didn’t seem to care anymore.

Maybe.

To Arthur, it still felt like a glaring neon light flashed over his head every time he looked twice at another man, and never mind what his father had to say. Whenever news of some gay celebrity, athlete, or whoever came up on the telly or in the papers, Uther’s lip would curl up in a disgusted sneer, the word ‘Freaks’ slipping out under his breath. Arthur’s defense of them- of himself- would die on his tongue every time. Uther never seemed to notice. Morgana always gave Arthur a sidelong glance, as though urging him on to do... something. Then she’d look away, a flash of something like disappointment hiding itself before he could figure out what it was.

Arthur wasn’t sure if she knew about him, and if she did he doubted she cared one way or another. Morgana could hardly claim to be as pure as the driven snow herself. Not that Arthur cared to know the details of his half-sister’s sex life, but there were some things that just couldn’t stay hidden.

Unlike Blue Eyes, who must have grown wings and flown away because even in a crowd like this, someone that tall and that gangly couldn’t just disappear.

He picked a direction, heading northward first, nearly crashing into a group of Italian girls in his haste. They shouted eloquent insults at him, the brilliant hues of their coats and luggage almost dizzying in the afternoon sun until he waved an apology their way and hurried past. The dour old men sipping coffee in their souvenir shops were unimpressed by his speed, and even the skinny bloke handing out pamphlets for yet another curry restaurant didn’t bother trying to flag Arthur down.

He all but ran to the shopping centre where the crowd thinned out a bit. He paused at the corner, rolling up to his tip toes on the kerb, as though that would give him a bird’s eye perspective and help him find Blue Eyes, but the gangly figure was nowhere to be found. A passing car splashed through a puddle, dousing his legs with cold water for his efforts. Arthur gave the driver a half-hearted, two-fingered salute before turning on a heel to head back toward the Tube station, now wet and disheartened.

_‘It was a long shot, anyway. I’d have had a better chance of picking the same pigeon twice at Trafalgar Square.”_

The crowds were sparse when Arthur skittered down the stairs toward the platform, book in hand. He glanced up at the digital signboard listing when the next train was due to arrive- just a few minutes. He tried not to think of Blue Eyes’s smile and his own idiocy in the face of it.

_‘Stupid, Arthur. Stupid.’_

Just when he seemed to have gotten precisely what he’d wanted, he’d let it slip away. Not for the first time.

He’d almost gone in a gay bar once. Came as close as walking toward the door when he, a Captain in the British Army, decided he was too much of a coward to actually commit to walking into the place. He would have to admit that he had no idea what he was doing, that beyond fumbling about with a few girls in uni before realizing what he was, he had no experience in the romantic realm. Or the flirting realm. Or in any realm outside the army and the proper little world Uther had built up around himself. He had sucked Arthur into it so thoroughly he had no idea what to do when his own desires made themselves known.

Arthur knew what he wanted- someone to take him by the hand and show him around this new world he knew nothing about. But every time he started to reach out, his own uncertainties reared their ugly little heads, striking out at the world he should have been embracing.

Sighing, Arthur rubbed his eyes and tucked his sunglasses into his pocket. He took the book out and opened it a bit, just enough to make sure the precious phone number was there. It was there, tucked in the crease between pages. There was a bit of hope, then, that Arthur hadn’t fucked up completely. If he could work up the courage to do it, he could call Blue Eyes. Maybe something might happen. Maybe there would be sparks, and...

The the wind off the train picked up. Arthur snapped the book shut and looked up and into the eyes of a woman standing near the edge of the platform, tall and proud, and clad head to toe in flowing black. The veil revealed only her eyes- dark and beautiful, and unconcerned with Arthur’s opinion of her. The generous folds of the niqab blew back, and for a moment she seemed out of place and time, a desert queen plucked from her rightful place and set into a London tube station like a frame from a surrealist film.

For a moment, the air currents rushing away from the train felt like the hot breath of a Kandahar summer, dry, holding nothing more than the promise of more heat, more dust. Screeching brakes turned into a call to prayer accompanied by far off sirens, a chorus Arthur had heard so often the two sounds were conjoined in his memory. He couldn’t hear one without summoning the memory of the other

Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head. The minute movement was just enough to break the spell of memory.

Six months might have passed since his discharge from the army, but he hadn’t left Afghanistan behind. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Too many worlds lived in his head, spheres of being that should have remained separate, and yet they kept crashing into each other, complicating things that didn’t need to be complicated.

Arthur blinked, let out a long breath and stepped onto the train behind the woman. He fixed his gaze on the Tube station map on the far side and counted the stops until his came along. It took too long for the train to come to a stop, too long for the doors to open and let him out. Arthur brushed between a young couple, his muttered apologies lost in the station noise as he practically ran out of doors, his steps long and measured until he reached the confines of his own flat. He pulled his coat off and tossed it aside, throwing the book with its precious number on top and stumbled into his bedroom where he collapsed on the bed.

It took effort- too much effort- to gain control of his breathing, to slow the rapid gasps before he passed out. He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe in to the slow count of five...

_One… two…_

_“You’re home, Arthur. You left Kandahar behind._

_Three… four…_

_“You brought your men home. All of them. They’re safe now. So are you.”_

_Five…_

He breathed out to the count of five, then did it again. And again. Until his heart rate began to slow and the room stopped spinning around him. Arthur closed his eyes, let himself relax against the covers and breathed in the scent of eucalyptus mixed with something or other. Morgana had picked it out. Something designed to help him relax. She had brought it over and attacked the bedroom with it before he knew what she was doing. She’d soaked the place so thoroughly he’d ended up with a headache and had to sleep on the couch that night. When he told her about it, Morgana had apologized, but couldn’t keep the sparkle out of her eyes. She did love to play her pranks where she could, especially when she could claim she was trying to help.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, and his heart slowed to normal. He lay quietly until a hazy sleep settled over him.

 

* * *

 

Three days passed before Arthur worked up the courage to pull the phone number out of the book. The spidery handwriting was just as he remembered it, the penciled lines smudged from being compressed between the pages. Arthur picked it up, his hands steady despite his nerves. His eyes trailed over the words on the page, one phrase standing out above the others.

_“... all these days, I have loved you…”_

Arthur smirked. “What do you know about this, book?” He pushed the book aside and flopped on the couch, smartphone in hand. He let out a long breath, his stomach suddenly fluttering. One thing to have the phone number. It was quite another to actually call it. Call… Arthur flipped the paper over, turned it around and around in his hands.

There was no name.

“What…? What am I supposed to do with this?” Just a number and no name. Had Blue Eyes played a joke on him? Would Arthur call the number, only to find he’d dialed a sex shop or worse?

“Oh, just do it, Arthur.”

He tapped the number into the phone. Hit send. His heart jumped into his throat when it rang through. One ring. Two. Three…. Arthur’s pulse was loud in his ears. He wet his lips.

_“Hello?”_

Arthur nearly dropped the phone.

 _“Hello? Is someone there? Hello?”_ There was a pause. _“Look, if this is a prank, I’ve got too much to do to put up with it. So if you’ve got something to say, go ahead and say it, or I’m just going to hang up.”_

Faced with the threat, Arthur found his voice. “Hi. Sorry. You, uh, you left me your number. At the coffee shop. A few days ago.” Arthur winced. As cool as he’d ever been under enemy fire, this man’s voice left him half-witted and stuttering.

 _“The coffee shop?”_  Confusion colored Blue Eyes’s voice down to a muted grey tone before it brightened. _“Oh! You! I thought you weren’t going to call. I’d almost given up on you. Thought maybe I was a bit too weird, or maybe you weren’t into that sort of thing_.”

“Um, into what sort of thing?”

Blue Eyes laughed. The sound of it made Arthur smile. _“The sort of thing where two strangers’ eyes meet across a crowded coffee shop. There’s a bit of mystery involved, maybe a little serendipity, some confusion and a humorous happening or two. Like something out of the movies, yeah?”_ The grey mists and verdant hillsides of the Welsh countryside colored his voice. For a moment, Arthur found himself willing to do anything to keep him talking, to hear those cadences spilling through this tenuous connection like a stream in the mountains.

“I, uh, I’m open to new things, I guess.” Arthur chuckled. He felt his shoulders start to loosen, the coiled muscles in his back began to unwind. “And meeting in a crowded place can’t be that uncommon if it’s such a cliche. Must happen all the time.”

 _“Yeah, I suppose. How would the boy meet the girl without the benefit of crowded rooms. Hard to meet a new bloke when you’re in the arse end of nowhere and there’s not a crowd in sight.”_ Arthur heard a door slam shut in the background and a muffled voice call out to Blue Eyes. There was a clatter like someone putting a hand over the phone and moving about and a muffled answer to the background voice. A male one, Arthur could tell. His heart sank, disappointment coloring his mood. Was Blue Eyes already with someone and just teasing Arthur? _“Sorry about that. My flatmate’s finally come home. Been gone for a while on holiday. Anyway. Where were we?”_

 “Erm, something about the arse end of nowhere, and there being no crowds?” Arthur swallowed, trying to keep the discouragement out of his voice. He found a loose thread on his jeans and tugged at it, vowing to find a pair of scissors and deal with it when he couldn’t free it from the denim.

 _“Right. Crowds. Easy to find in London, yeah? All over the place. The hard part’s finding a place that not full of people.”_ There was a shuffling in the background, like a body shifting on a couch to find a comfortable spot. _“What say we find another crowd, then? Somewhere we can properly look across each other from, maybe find some sort of mystery? Some sense of je ne sais quois, or deja vu, or something else that’s mystical-sounding and French? How about Saturday? I have Saturday afternoon free, say, three o’ clock? What about you?”_

Some quip about checking his calendar came to mind, nearly tripping over itself to fall off the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back. He knew damn well his calendar was empty. Especially on Saturday. If something had come up in the past day to keep him away on Saturday, he’d cancel it. Make it disappear. “Um, yeah. Saturday. Saturday’s good. I’m good on Saturday.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks. He sounded like  a proper idiot now. “Where’s good?” He managed not to squeak the last bit out.

 _“Hmmm….”_  Blue Eyes trailed off thoughtfully. Arthur imagined him twirling a pencil through those agile fingers of his. _“Hyde Park, then? By the Albert Memorial? Always seems to be nice and crowded, even at this time of year. Plenty going on, lots to see. So if one of us stands the other up, at least we’ll have joggers and dogs to watch, yeah?”_

“I’m not planning to stand you up.”

Blue Eyes laughed off the indignance that had slipped into Arthur’s voice. _“I wasn’t worried about it. I don’t plan to, either. Just making a stupid joke. I do that, sometimes. Maybe a lot of times, I don’t know. I’m surprised people listen to me sometimes. Most times, really. But anyway. Saturday at 3:00, by the Albert Memorial. Any objections?”_

A stupid grin had spread across the whole of Arthur’s face by that time. “None at all.”

_“Great! Bring me one of those posh coffee drinks, would you? As a sort of getting-to-know you thing? You can tell a lot about a man by the coffee he drinks.”_

“Yeah. Sure.” Arthur raised a brow. “Though it sounds more like a ploy for you to get free coffee. But I’m willing. What do you want?”

 _“You wound me, sir.”_ Blue Eyes laughed again. The sound of it sent thrills down Arthur’s spine. _“Make a good guess. I’m open-minded about flavors. It’s the caffeine that’s the important part, right? Makes the world go ‘round, after all.”_ A muffled voice sounded in the background. _“Yeah, I’ll get it. Give me a minute. Sorry. That was the flatmate again. Listen, I’ve got to go. It was great to hear from you. Like I said, I wasn’t sure if you were going to call or not. Glad you did.”_

 “I’m glad I did, too.” Arthur’s grin widened further, turning from ‘giddy’ to ‘completely, stupidly happy’. “I’ll see you Saturday, then?”

 _“Yes, definitely. I’ll see you Saturday.”_ The was a puff of breath that might have been a laugh and the line went dead.

“Wait, though…. I don’t...” Arthur scowled and shook his head. He pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it. “I don’t even know your name.”

But it was a smartphone. It had a texting option. Arthur brought up Blue Eyes’s  number and opened a text window. _‘Sorry. Forgot to ask your name? My name’s Arthur.’_

He stared at the phone for a minute, half-expecting a response. When it failed to produce one, he tossed it onto the empty seat next to him on the couch. “Well. That went better than expected.”

_I’ll see you Saturday_

If they weren’t the best words he’d heard in his life, they were definitely in the top ten. Maybe even the top five and clawing their way up the list.

 

* * *

 

It was a little over an hour before Arthur’s phone beeped to announce a new text. The message put the stupid-giddy smile back on his face.

_“Nice 2 meet u, Arthur. I’m Merlin.”_


	2. Chapter 2

_“An awake heart is like a sky that pours light.”_

-Hafiz

 

* * *

 

Saturday took its time in coming.

In the few days between the fateful phone call and Saturday, time slowed itself down good and proper. Every mind-numbing delay that could happen happened, whether it was a delay in traffic, a Tube station, or just waiting in line to buy groceries. It was like some sort of timespace vortex had opened up right over Arthur’s head and was screwing with the passage of time. While everyone around him complained that there weren’t enough hours in the day, he had an overabundance of them, with nothing to do except count down the seconds until Saturday afternoon.

Well, that wasn’t completely true.

He had to pass an interminable Friday night at the Pendragon manor house, enduring the requisite weekly dinner with Uther. Morgana was there, too, but spending time with her wasn’t an endurance test. Not usually.

Sometimes she decided to be a pain because she could. Because she knew better than anyone how to get under Arthur’s skin. Other times she was a balm for his aching heart, knowing just what to say when Uther’s criticisms dug too deeply. Tonight was no exception.

She found Arthur on his back under a tree, one hand cushioning his head as he stared up at the sky, a dark patchwork of cloud and stars. “Are you trying to freeze to death out here?” Morgana said, her few years of ballet training making themselves known as she settled next to him without spilling a drop from either of the mugs she held. “Take these.” She thrust the drinks in his face until he sat up and grabbed them, then shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and wrapped it around the both of them.

Arthur sipped from one of the mugs and handed Morgana the other when she’d snuggled as close to him as she could. “Plain black coffee wasn’t good enough for you?”

“I figured I’d Irish it up a bit in honor of Uther’s lecture.” Morgana rested her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around hers, careful not to knock the blanket to the ground. She sighed, and they sipped their doctored drinks in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder what our lives would’ve been like if we’d been a normal family?” Arthur asked suddenly.

“You mean with a mother and father, the house in Sussex with the cat and the dog, and growing up to be accountants or something equally unexciting? That sort of normal life?” She tilted her head up to look at him, one dark brow cocked and questioning.

“Yeah. That sort. Where we didn’t have to worry about the tabloids and public opinion. Or Uther’s opinion. Where we could just go out and. . . be normal.”

“Hmm…” Morgana pretended to be lost in thought. “No, I can’t say that I have. I’ve seen how the normal set are, with Friday night pizza and telly, and it never seemed all that interesting. I mean, have you seen the sorts of shows that are on on Friday nights? Not something I’d want to be a part of.” Her smirk died at the flat expression on Arthur’s face. “Why? Is there something I should know about? Someone I should know about?”

He should have said, ‘ _Yes, I have a date tomorrow with an angelic-looking man I met at a Starbucks_ ’. But an awkward, “Uhm, no.” was all that passed his lips.

“You’re a terrible liar, Arthur Pendragon. But I’ll let you have your secrets. This time.” Her gloved fingers dug into his ribs, right on the only spot that was ticklish. Of course she knew where that spot was.

He stifled a squeak and grabbed her wrist tightly enough to control her hand without bruising her. Morgana twisted around in his grip, her fingers flapping away at his to no effect other than making her laugh at how ridiculous it looked. His laughter joined hers a moment later and Arthur let go of her hand. She wrapped her arm around his and rested her head against his shoulder. “So what’s bothering you this time? Seriously, Arthur. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Arthur gave her a sidelong look. “You’re sure about that? Because I can think of quite a few things that I’ve managed to hide from you.”

“Name one,” Morgana challenged, shooting him an imperious look.

He opened his mouth to say the first thing that popped into his mind before he snapped it shut again, his teeth clacking together. “You and your lawyer’s tricks. You should have been in the bloody Inquisition.”

“You’re just upset that you almost spilled one of your precious secrets.”

“Yeah, well, I am not unarmed. I hear that a bit of champagne loosens your tongue as easily as those stupid, fake truth serums they have in the movies.”

Morgana grimaced. “I knew I shouldn’t have missed Lance’s birthday party. What else did Gwen tell you?”

“Nothing. Gwen’s an upstanding person who doesn’t kiss and tell, as it were. She’s a terrible tease.”

“Oh?” Morgana raised an eyebrow at him. “Does my baby brother think he’s going to come between Lance the Virtuous and Gwen the Good? I think you’d have a better chance of coming between Romeo and Juliet.”

“I have no plans to try to break up Lance and Gwen. I don’t even think that’s possible. It’s like they’ve been together for the past thousand years or so.” That was how it felt, anyway, despite the fact that Arthur had known Gwen since school and he’d been the one to introduce her to Lance just after basic. They’d bonded immediately and fallen into one of those relationships that would last forever.

“Is that all? Sometimes it feels like it’s been longer than that.” Morgana downed the last of her coffee and set her mug aside before tucking her half of the blanket tighter around herself. She snuggled closer to him, stealing as much of Arthur’s warmth as she could. ‘A walking space heater’, she’d laughingly called him once, though it never bothered her to curl up next to him on cold winter evenings. “So what’s bothering you?”

“What do you mean?”

Morgana hugged his arm tighter, as though she could just squeeze the information out of him. “You. You’re sitting out here all by yourself in the cold and the dark, and you ask me if I’d ever wondered what being a ‘normal’ family would’ve been like. Clearly something’s on your mind.”

“And what if I’m just tired of Uther’s rants about shit that doesn’t matter to us? Or his constantly trying to shove me into government work when, just maybe, I’d like to get away from the government for a while and try to make my own life the way you did?” Arthur asked. The breeze blew a strand of her hair into his face. He reached up and tucked it behind her ear before resting his head against hers again.

“You know I haven’t gotten away from him completely. He wants me in the family business just as much as he wants you there. But you’re avoiding my question. Don’t think you can open a great big subject like you just did and pretend you didn’t do it. I’m a lawyer, Arthur. It’s part of my job to get the truth out of people. So what is it that’s bothering you?”

Arthur sighed. He needed to better remember this side of Morgana, the dogged, find-the-truth-at-all-costs part of her that wouldn’t let go of something once she’d gotten her teeth into it. “It’s nothing. Just... nothing. Really.” He looked away from her and up toward the stars again.

Morgana pulled away from him and took hold of his chin, turning his head around far enough to look him in the eye. Enough for him to see the anticipation in her eyes turn to disappointment. She set her mug down and wrapped both her hands around his, her slender fingers twining around his larger, calloused ones. “Arthur, will you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Your birthday’s a little over a month away. If you do nothing else for it, will you promise me that you’ll stop lying to yourself?” Morgana’s gaze was intense, refusing to let him look away.

“I-” His voice broke. Arthur cleared his throat and licked his lips, suddenly nervous as he tried to match her steady gaze. ‘She knows. She’s always known about me, and she’s never said a word about it. Not to Uther, not to Gwen, or anyone else.’ He sighed. All his life, Morgana had supported his every decision. At least, she’d supported his every intelligent decision. He owed her. “I’ll try.”

Morgana studied him for a while, only vaguely satisfied by his answer. Her lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I’ll hold you to it, little brother.” She held his gaze for a moment longer before settling back against him. “You know I only want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know,” Arthur said. He kissed her softly on the cheek. “It’s one of your big secrets. Underneath that ice queen exterior, you’re a big softie.”

“Don’t let anyone else know. It’ll ruin my reputation,” Morgana laughed. She let go of his arm and ruffled his hair as she stood, collecting her coffee mug but leaving the blanket behind. “I’m going in. It’s getting cold, and for once your capacity as a radiator isn’t enough.” A sad smile touched her lips when she turned to go, glancing back over her shoulder. “Remember your promise, Arthur.”

He gave her a tired smile and watched her go, the memory of her knowing gaze lingering longer than the sweetness of her perfume.

 

* * *

 

It was a rare warm November day as Arthur trekked along the southern edge of Hyde Park. The sun was starting to fall lower in the sky, drenching the city in a golden light that made even the normally grey autumn days feel spring-like. Maybe it was his mood that made everything seem brighter, but even if it had turned rainy and grim, nothing could make him feel bad enough to take the spring out of Arthur’s step. The sunshine was just icing on the proverbial cake.

He slowed to glance at his watch, twisting around a little so he wouldn’t tilt the takeaway cup in his hand too far and spill it. 2:53. Plenty of time, seeing as how the Royal Albert Hall loomed in  the distance. The delay at Starbucks hadn’t made him late after all, and he’d have time to look around for Merlin.

Assuming he was there. Assuming he wasn’t like every other flaky artist Arthur had ever met before. Not that he’d met that many artists. They’d never showed up in his social circles at school or uni, and it wasn’t like the military was the first port of call for a painter.

Morgana had brought a few artists home when she wanted to irritate Uther- grungy anarchist types armed with spray paint and obvious tattoos spouting leftist slogans like drill sergeants shouting insults at new recruits. And all the while, Arthur wondered if they believed the things they were saying, or if it was all something they thought the cool kids were saying these days, because it was rebellious and their parents didn’t like it.

The artists hadn’t amused Arthur so much as the interesting shades of red Uther turned while he tried to keep his mouth shut. It was never a good idea for politician to yell at someone who would just turn around and repeat his comments on Twitter. That, and he was too prone to letting Morgana have her way in everything, even in the company she brought home.

The artists’ welcome ended quickly enough when one of them got completely pissed and threw up on Morgana’s bed. There were no more visiting artists after that.

_‘And now I’m about to meet up with one I met in passing in a coffee shop and spent a few minutes talking to on the phone.’_

Arthur’s stomach did a sudden flip-flop. His three sips of coffee felt like they were about to come back up. He took a deep breath, swallowed down his nerves, then looked around the open space in front of the monument, searching among the tourists and the people walking their dogs for for those blue eyes. He walked slowly, scanning the faces around him like he was looking for an enemy, though there were none to be found on a sleepy London weekend.

He spied Merlin on the far side of the monument, sitting on the steps with his knees up to his chin and sketchbook in hand. His eyes flicked up and down between paper and whatever had caught his attention. Arthur couldn’t see the drawing yet and probably wouldn’t look at it, either. Peeking felt like an invasion of privacy, like looking at someone’s diary. Not that he hadn’t glanced at Morgana’s when he was a kid, but that was Morgana. This was different. He didn’t want to mess this up.

Merlin had earbuds stuck in his ears, the music apparently turned up too high to hear Arthur walk up to him and say his name. It was a good name. Merlin. It rolled off the tongue like water.

“Merlin?” He said it again, louder. Enough to catch Merlin’s attention this time. He looked up, slender fingers tugging at one of the earbuds as his expression changed from befuddled to delighted as he recognized Arthur.

“You’re here!” His smile lit up half of London. Arthur’s answering grin was only a little dimmer. Merlin unfolded, skinny legs stretching out in front of him as he fumbled with earbuds, sketchbook and pencil, and a lit cigarette he hadn’t noticed before.

“You know those are bad for you,” Arthur said.

“Yeah.” Merlin took a long drag and blew the smoke out in a near-endless stream, his lips puckering into a perfect ‘O’. “But a cigarette a day keeps something away, right? Doctors or somesuch.”

Arthur snorted and sat down next to Merlin. “It’s apples that keep the doctor away.” He handed over the promised coffee drink- a latte. Nothing too fancy or too cheap, and without weird flavors that Merlin might not like.

Merlin sipped it, his eyes lighting up with approval. “I’ll have to eat more apples, then. Keeping the cigarettes, though. Whatever it is they keep away, they seem to attract the handsome blokes.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Could be.” Merlin gave him a sidelong glance as he flipped his sketchbook closed and shoved it into the backpack at his side. “Unless you’re not the bloke I saw in the park last week who looked right at me when I lit up and pretended he wasn’t interested. Though I have to say, I’m hard-pressed to forget a face.” He tapped his temple. “Good visual memory. Comes with all the drawing and paying attention to things.”

“That was you?” Arthur gave Merlin a long look, trying to match his memory of that night to the face in front of him and, yes, there it was. The same browline, those same, deep eyes. “What’d you do, follow me?”

“What, you think I was stalking you? Saw some pretty face in the park by night, and started following him around?” Merlin took another drag of the precious cigarette. “Nah. I’ve got better things to do than chase random people around London. I’ll just chalk it up to destiny. How else are two blokes going to see each other in a park one night, and a week later, happen to see each other again at a coffee shop?”

“So, you believe in fate and all that. . . “ Arthur stopped himself saying ‘all that shit’.

“Do I look like the sort of man who’s like to drop to his knees and say the rosary?” Merlin laughed, and somehow it made the day brighter. Arthur fell in love with the sound all over again. “Do I believe in fate? No, maybe not. But you’ve got to wonder if all of it doesn’t make as much sense as everything else.”

“Everything else?”

“You know. All the shit that’s going on out there.” Merlin waved his cigarette hand in a loose circle, indicating something more than south London. “Everything you hear on the news, how people everywhere are fighting over who believes the right thing or the wrong thing and everyone seems to hate everyone else. War and strife. Disease. People killing each other for some shit reason. It’s like there’s nothing good going on in the world. Or if there is, no one talks about it, like it’s taboo.” Merlin stopped, his jaw snapping shut so fast Arthur heard his teeth clack together. He closed his eyes and brought the cigarette to his lips, shutting out Arthur and the rest of the world to a long count of ten.

Arthur looked down at the takeaway cup in his hand, noting the drops of coffee clinging to the edge and the dark ring where a splash of it had dried. Somehow, it reminded him of puddles drying in the hot Kandahar sun. And gunfire and dust and smoke. How he had added to the sum total of the strife that made Merlin so upset. He blinked away the memories and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Merlin opened his eyes and laughed once, a harsh, bitter sound that Arthur didn’t like. He ran a hand through his black hair- the one with the cigarette, and Arthur wondered if he was about to catch the curling locks on fire. “But anyway.” He blew the smoke out in three quick puffs. “That’s not why we’re here, is it? We’re here because we’re two blokes who met in a coffee shop, and maybe we’re hoping it’ll be something more than a couple of chance meetings and a quick hook-up for coffee, yeah?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?” Merlin’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise, the sparkle returning to the jewel blues. “Oh, I see. The scruffy artist-type’s not good enough for the posh bloke, then? Should I dress up next time, comb my hair and wear a suit? Will that make a better impression?”

Arthur pulled away to look at Merlin full on, studying him, looking for the anger that had ignited so suddenly, then went out just as quickly. There was nothing but a teasing happiness left behind.

Mercurial, then. The perfect word for Merlin’s quicksilver emotions. He’d never met someone with moods that ran the gamut so quickly. At least they were readable in his eyes, sparkling now with humor, turning flat blue when the mood went dark, then flashing with the first signs of anger. It was like watching a time lapse of a landscape, with the sunlight flickering with the movement of clouds and storms across a golden afternoon.

_‘What would you look like in the moonlight?’_

The thought came out of nowhere. Arthur realized he wouldn’t mind finding out sometime.

He took a breath. “You want there to be a next time, then? My posh-ness doesn’t intimidate your scruffiness?”

Merlin gave him a sidelong, up and down look that lingered at times, sending chills down Arthur’s spine. His lips curled up in a devilish smile. “Scruffy definitely isn’t intimidated by posh. Sometimes posh isn’t as tough as it thinks it is. Falls apart right quick with the proper incentive. Wouldn’t take much to take you apart, now would it?”  Merlin’s tongue flicked up, slowly running along his top teeth. His gaze narrowed into a sloe-eyed look, the effect of it strangely obscene. It felt like they should be curled up on the cushy couch back at Arthur’s flat doing outrageous things to each other, not sitting quietly on cold concrete steps in the middle of a flock of tourists.

Arthur bit his lip and turned away, a nervous laugh escaping before he could choke it back. “Uh. So. Um. . . “   He cringed inwardly, feeling like a thirteen year-old kid asking a girl to the movies for the first time, sweaty palms and all. “Did you, uh, want to do something besides sit here and watch pigeons?”

“Sure. Why not? What do you want to do? We’ve got the whole of London to choose from. Greatest city in the world, yeah? We could go for more coffee or something to eat. Catch a show somewhere. Go make fun of the tourists at Westminster Bridge? Put an oyster card to good use and take the Tube all over the city? Up to you.” Merlin shouldered his backpack and staggered to his feet, cigarette and latte in one hand. He offered the other to Arthur.

He hesitated for half a second, then took Merlin’s hand. It was warm and dry, and surprisingly strong. He let go, reluctantly, when he was back on his feet. “I haven’t eaten much today. Shall we get dinner somewhere?”

“Yeah.” Merlin smiled. “Let’s do that.”

 

* * *

 

They found a little pizza place off Old Brompton road and were ushered to a table in the back. Arthur took the seat facing the entrance. His army training, drilled into him until it was instinct, made him put his back to the wall to watch for hostiles. Merlin didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s vigilance, or mind showing his back to the room.

They settled in with a pint of Green Daemon each and a neapolitan pizza, minus the anchovies, between them. Merlin was busy picking the black olives off his slices, chattering about it the entire time. From anyone else, Arthur might have seen it as petty whining, but Merlin’s complaints were somehow endearing. All he could do was sit back and enjoy the show as Merlin dissected the pizza to clear it of olives. “I know you said ‘just a handful’ of olives, but they must have gotten the bloke with the biggest hands to make this one. I’ll never understand why they put so many on there. I mean, a few’s okay, but you get more than that and the flavor just overwhelms everything. You might as well just order an olive pizza and be done with it.”

Merlin stabbed at the last one with his fork and deposited it atop the pile of the little black fruit. Despite what he’d just said about not minding them, he’d cleared the slices of olives completely. Arthur didn’t say anything about it, though, and just filed it away for future reference. Watching Merlin fuss over the pizza was too amusing. He didn’t want to shut down the flow of cheerful chatter.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Merlin asked after his first few bites.

“No, I don’t know.”

“Italy. There was this bitty town in the north of Italy. You know the type. Rustic, flowers all over. Couple of cows. Right next to a lake and some mountains. Gorgeous kind of place.” Merlin took another bite and chewed quickly, licking a bit of mozzarella off his finger. The gesture wasn’t meant to be enticing, but for a moment Arthur couldn’t look away.

“We found it by accident, really, Freya and I did. We were nineteen, doing the whole Grand Tour thing. Well,” Merlin shrugged, “it started out with the three of us, me and Will and Freya, but Will took off once we got to Davos. Meeting up with some cousins or somesuch. So Freya and I went on to Italy. We were trying to get to Florence, you know, to see the duomo, the Gates of Paradise, and all that.” Arthur didn’t know, but didn’t bother interrupting to say so.

“So I take us on the wrong turning- wrong train, you see- and we end up way out of the way, but it’s getting late and we’re hungry and tired so we get off at the next stop and there’s this tiny little restaurant still open. We go there, and they must have thought we were starving, because they kept bringing us food. Enough to feed half the RAF it seemed like. The pizza was better than this, but it kind of reminds me of it. Of that little town in Italy, by the lake. I don’t even know the name of it.” Then it was as though Merlin had shut off the the tap. The stream of words ended, and he tucked into his pizza like he was the half-starved nineteen-year-old in his story.

Arthur swallowed a bit of his own pizza and chased it down with a sip of beer. “Did you ever make it?”

Merlin looked up, confused. “Make it where?”

“To Florence? You and Freya. Did you ever make it to Florence?”

The light dimmed in Merlin’s eyes. He looked down and poked at the olive pile on his place. “Erm, no. Things happened, you know, and the next night was our last in Italy. Haven’t ever been back.” There was a story there, Arthur could tell. But he could see, too, that Merlin wasn’t willing to tell it. He looked back up, some of the shine back in his eyes. “What about you? Ever been anywhere interesting?”

Arthur tapped his fork against the plate. “We went to America once. Stayed in New York for a week, then off to Los Angeles. We saw the Grand Canyon.” ‘We’, being Arthur, Morgana, and their caretaker of the month. Miss Davies or Davis or something like that. Uther had gone on business, and a fourteen-year-old Morgana had convinced him that spending a winter holiday with him in America would be far more rewarding and educational than staying at the manor house again. Uther had relented, finally, but they had hardly seen him during the entire trip. At least the weather was warm and sunny, and to Arthur, all of twelve at the time, the lights of America’s big cities were as exciting as anything he’d ever seen before. But he’d been looking forward to the Grand Canyon the most.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

“The Grand Canyon, you idiot,” Merlin laughed.

“Oh, that. It was pretty grand. Bit hot. We didn’t get to go down into it, though. Just drove around to a bunch of overlooks and stayed at a hotel. Went back for a bit the next morning, and then we had to go to the airport. It wasn’t the grand adventure we thought it was going to be.” Arthur shrugged, trying to pretend that he didn’t still feel a twinge of youthful anger at Uther for cutting their holiday short. The thought of seeing the desert had fascinated him as a kid, and he’d read Frank Herbert’s _Dune_ and everything about T.E. Lawrence he could get his hands on before they’d left England.

The memory of the Arizona desert was still clear in his mind, a vast and empty land unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Reds and oranges that glowed like neon signs, and purple and blue hues that were familiar and alien at once, and in the late afternoon light far below, the Colorado River cut through the stone like a golden knife. A clean land, dry and silent and unconcerned with the lives of the people who wandered across it to gape at its immensity.

The next time Arthur had seen anything remotely resembling Arizona had been the arid expanses of Afghanistan, colored by the blood-spattered glasses of war.

“I was in Kandahar,” Arthur said. He pursed his lips to keep from saying anything else. He hadn’t intended to let even that little bit slip.

“Oh.” The smile fell off Merlin’s face. “Military, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah. Army. Got home for good six months ago. I’ve been working with my father ever since. Investments, government work.” He shrugged and popped a bit of pizza into his mouth, chewing slowly before going on. “It’s not the most exciting thing in the world to do, but it’s the family business. I’ll probably end up in the House of Lords someday.”

“A lord?” Merlin’s eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “I’m on a date with a future lord of England? Well. Aren’t I doing better than I thought I was? Lord . . . “ His brow knit, the very picture of pensive confusion. “I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Pendragon,” Arthur said.

“As in Uther Pendragon’s son?” Merlin asked.

Arthur winced. “The very same.”

“You don’t seem very much like him. I’ve seen him on the news now and then. Not a very nice fellow from what I’ve seen. Kind of Thatcher-esque, if you don’t mind my saying.” Merlin absently poked at the olive pile at the edge of his plate, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes as though that would counter any insult Arthur might take. “My flatmate says even worse things about him, but that’s Will for you. Not a lot of tact in him.”

“No offense taken.” Arthur gave him a quick smile to chase away the uncertainty that had appeared in Merlin’s eyes. “I’m, uh, not my father’s biggest fan either. It’s just- well, it’s hard to get out from his shadow, if you know what I mean. I tried, with the military. Thought I’d make a career of it. Uther wasn’t keen on my going into the army, but once I’d signed up there wasn’t a lot he could do about it.”

“I imagine not.” An uncomfortable silence began to grow between them. Arthur silently berated himself for bringing it up. “If you wanted to make it a career, why aren’t you still there?” Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur took a long drink of his beer to wet his dry mouth. And to give himself some time to think of an appropriate answer. He wanted to tell Merlin the truth, not drive him away. “I suppose I couldn’t stand sending my men into combat anymore. I was a Captain. Had a lot of men under my command in a combat zone where you couldn’t always tell civilians from the crazies who wanted to blow you up.” Arthur spun his glass around and around in his hands, watching a drop of beer slide down the side. He couldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. “Mind you, a Captain’s not _that_ high in the chain of command, but it’s high enough that you start dealing with the bureaucracy. You start seeing a lot of the shit that goes along with anything in the government. People playing favorites in the ranks, men and women getting promoted above others who deserve it more. Bean-counters here in London deciding that maybe it’s too expensive to give the lads on the other side of the world all the supplies they’ve asked for. And then, when it’s you giving the orders and looking into the eyes of the men you’re responsible for, sometimes you wonder if we’re there to defend freedom, or if it’s all about money and industry.”

Arthur bit his lip and took a deep breath, shoving back the memories that threatened to overtake him. “So when our time was up, the lads and I said our good-byes to the army and came home. And now I have to deal with my father and all his ‘I-told-you-so’s. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“No, actually. I don’t.” It was Merlin’s turn to sound uncomfortable. Arthur finally looked up, but Merlin’s eyes were on his hands. He glanced up at Arthur, a pained smile stretching his lips. “My dad died when I was a kid. Got tangled up with a murder in Cardiff. Seems a bloke he knew from way back had killed someone and came to my dad looking for help. We were there on holiday, just my dad and me. I don’t even know how Borden knew we were there, but he knew, and he comes in, thinking my dad’s going to help him get out of the country. Dad said he wouldn’t, and Borden panicked. Had a gun and pointed it at me. I was all of seven, you know, and Dad panicked and step in front of the gun, trying to get it away from Borden, and-” The rush of Merlin’s words came to an abrupt halt. He gasped for breath, his knuckles white where he gripped his pint glass. “Next thing I know, I’m sitting in the hospital with this nice police-lady, and there’s a doctor there with that sort of look people get on their face when they’ve got the worst kind of news and they’re trying to figure out how to say it. Then it was just me and my Mum and after that.”

Arthur wanted to look away, to give Merlin that bit of privacy that comes from not being stared at while he pulled himself together, but he just couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The clatter of dishes and the drone of conversation around them suddenly sounded very loud.

“Wasn’t your fault. And it’s kind of a matter of public record, anyway, isn’t it? There was a police investigation, all sorts of stories in the papers. You’d probably find it all in two seconds if you Googled me.” The wry smile that tugged at Merlin’s lips faded quickly. “Well,” he said without looking up. “This all went pear-shaped in a hurry, didn’t it?”

“It kind of did, yeah.” Arthur looked away. At the brick walls, the London night beyond the front windows, at the bouncy waitress and her even bouncier hairdo. Everywhere except at Merlin. His thoughts spun in circles as he tried to figure out how to salvage the wreck he’d made of the evening. "So, uh, shall we start over then? Try out a proper introduction this time?”

Merlin looked up at him, a spark of hope flaring in his eyes. “Can we?”

“Of course we can. I’ll start.” Arthur held his hand out for Merlin to shake. “Hello, my name’s Arthur Pendragon. My family’s old nobility, though it hardly seems to matter anymore. We’ve got lands and a big old house near Glastonbury, but I grew up in London. And you?”

“Merlin.” He gripped Arthur’s hand slightly longer than a normal handshake required, his fingers trailing away reluctantly. “Merlin Emrys. I’m from a little Welsh town called Ealdor. It’s bit east of Carmarthen. Not that I expect you to know where that is. Came to London some years back, studied off an on again at the Royal College of Art and just stayed here when that didn’t work out.”

“An artist, then?” Arthur grinned. “Can’t say that I know many artists. What kind of art do you do?”

“What kind of art do I do? You really don’t know many artists, do you?” Merlin laughed. Arthur felt the blood rise into his cheeks. He must have sounded like a proper idiot just then. But Merlin just smiled and went on. “I work in a lot of mediums, but primarily in oil paints. Just like the old masters, you know.”

Arthur didn’t really know. He knew next to nothing about art, but he was willing to learn. Maybe he just wanted to listen to Merlin talk and see that sparkle return to his brilliant blue eyes. If art was the subject, then so be it. Anything to make Merlin happy.

 

* * *

 

They lingered at the restaurant nearly until closing time, ordering a platter of meats, cheese, and bread once the pizza ran out and they found they didn’t want to leave quite yet. The bottle of wine came a little while after that, and by the time it was empty they were just sober enough to keep from stumbling when they finally headed out.

“. . .  we’re just walking down the street back to Will’s flat and this car slows down and pulls up alongside us. So we step away from the kerb a little, because it’s not the best part of town you know, and god only knows who’s in the car and what they want. Then the window rolls down and this person sticks his head out, and- you can ask Will if you want, because it’s god’s honest truth- he’s got this bright blue bra stuck on his head with the cups over his eyes, and he yells out ‘I am Fly Man!’ Then the other people in the car start laughing and they just drive away.” Merlin reached out to steady himself against a phone booth. Arthur was hard pressed to decide if it was the alcohol or his giggles that caused his wavering steps.

“So Will and I, we just look at each other and shrug and keep walking, because really, what else are you supposed to do in that sort of situation?” Merlin said. “I still can’t decide if it was meant as some sort of performance art thing, or if the bloke was maybe a little high.”

“Maybe he was a lot high,” Arthur chuckled. “I never knew art school was such a funny place. I always thought it was lots of big ideas and radical-types flinging paint around.”

“Oh, there’s a lot of that, too. You’re going to have radicals wherever you go, yeah? It’s just a question of what they’re crazy about. Oh. Bollocks.” Merlin’s face fell, his shoulders drooping with disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur stopped, searching around the little open area for something out of place, but he didn’t see anything strange. He looked back at Merlin, noticing how the lights from the traffic signal and the flashing signs carved deep shadows under his cheekbones and painted his pale skin with garish shades of red and green.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that this is my stop.” Merlin nodded toward the sign for the Underground. “So, I guess it’s good-bye. For now?”

Arthur didn’t miss the way Merlin’s voice lilted up, turning the last phrase into a question. “For now, I guess. Can I-” He cleared his throat and licked his lips, trying work up the courage to ask the simple question. “Can I see you again, then?”

“Yeah. Definitely, yeah. My schedule’s flexible. Just call me sometime. Or text. I do a lot of texting. It’s how all the kids are talking these days, you know.” Merlin laughed, a bright, airy sound just this side of giddy. “That sounded stupid. I don’t know why I said that. Just- yeah. Give me a call.”

“I’ll do that,” Arthur said, smiling. “I, uh, I had a great time tonight.”

“I did, too. I’ll see you around.” Merlin looked like he was about to say something, his step stuttering as he aborted the movement before fully committing to it. His hand came up, his fingers catching Arthur’s arm and sending a chill racing down his spine.

Then he leaned in and pressed a fleeting, feather-light kiss against Arthur’s cheek.

“Well, then. Um, g’bye.” Merlin darted away, his long legs carrying him away far faster than Arthur liked, leaving him to resist the urge to reach up and touch the spot where Merlin had kissed him, just to see if his skin really was a hot as it seemed.

Merlin paused at the station entrance and looked back over his shoulder, a wide grin spreading across his face before he disappeared inside.

A long minute passed before Arthur turned and trudged away, toward another station that would take him home, and wondering if it was his heart or his head at work when he realized that, had Merlin stayed another half a minute or said something- anything else- Arthur would have asked him to come home with him. He was suddenly grateful for the coolness of the night air.

_“Watch yourself, Arthur Pendragon. If you’re not careful, you’re going to fall in complete, ridiculous love with him.”_

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

" _Every moment of light and dark is a miracle."_

-Walt Whitman

 

* * *

 

Arthur never expected to be as happy in his life as he was in the few weeks after he met Merlin. They met up whenever their hectic schedules allowed, sometimes lingering over dinner somewhere posh, or just meeting up for a quick latte at an out-of-the way coffeehouse. On the days they couldn't meet, they settled for winding text conversations they could pick up whenever time allowed, though Arthur often had to spend a few minutes figuring out just what Merlin was trying to say with his inscrutable chatspeak.

Sometimes Arthur was sure Merlin was being deliberately obscure. Other times, it was a matter of Merlin being Merlin. A bit daft now and then, but underneath it all, he was as smart as they came, pulling quotes and bits of trivia out of thin air the way Arthur might recall military procedure.

It was a bleary Thursday afternoon when Arthur got a particularly clear message:  _"meet me @ trflgr sqr @ 4"._

He sighed inwardly. Merlin had been making noises about going to a museum and properly explaining art to him ever since Arthur had picked him up from one of his gallery jobs. He'd gotten there early and spent a few minutes wandering about the place- a modern looking space with pale wood floors, white walls, and too-bright lights. The art- Arthur wasn't sure if they were paintings or drawings or what- was brightly colored and completely inscrutable. When Merlin asked what he thought of them, Arthur had to admit that he didn't know a damn thing about art. He knew what he liked, and that was it.

He liked Merlin's paintings. They took his breath away.

Arthur had tracked down a gallery exhibiting three of his canvases, each about four feet tall and simply framed. The subjects were straightforward- luminous figures emerging from a dark background, each detail exquisitely rendered with hardly a brushstroke showing. The expressions on the figures' faces, two women and a man, were such fleeting things it hardly seemed possible that they could be captured with paint. It was like magic.

But as beautiful as they were, Arthur still had no idea what it was all supposed to  _mean_. What was the point of it all if they weren't just pretty pictures? The little bit written in the brochure hadn't helped, and the gallery attendant had droned on and on, using terms and phrases that sounded like they'd been lifted from an art history textbook. Arthur had nodded politely, and wished the man a good day before leaving more confused than when he'd come in.

At dinner the next night, Arthur had mentioned the incident. Merlin had sort of smiled and rolled his eyes, promising to drag him to one of London's many museums and explain things a bit more clearly. Apparently this was the promised day.

It had taken a turn for the colder outside, with a light rain that was threatening to turn to snow. Hardly a surprise for late December, but Arthur was glad when Merlin appeared from the midst of a flock of tourists to grab Arthur's sleeve and lead him into the warm and hallowed halls of the National Gallery. They went around a few corners and past rooms of paintings Arthur wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of identifying later on until Merlin finally halted in a room full of soft-focus paintings.

"Okay," Merlin said, "what are we looking at?"

"A painting of some fuzzy flowers by-" Arthur glanced at the name plate on the wall, "Claude Monet. They're waterlilies."

"Very good. And…?"

"And I don't know. They're pretty? You can get a poster print of it in the gift shop for a few quid?" Arthur shrugged helplessly and looked around, as though the other museum-goers would let him in on the secret. None of them did, though. They just kept their audio tour headphones on and ignored him.

"Keep your voice down," Merlin whispered. "We don't want to get kicked out now, do we? Right. So up to Victoria's time, most of the art was all pretty landscapes, royal portraits, religious stuff, Greek and Roman myths. I mean, not all of it, but a lot of it. Most of what was accepted by the Authorities of Art."

"I didn't know I'd signed up for a class."

"Shush, you." Merlin nudged him in the ribs. "It's the history of later Western art in a very small nutshell. Anyway. Along comes the Romantic era, and people get big ideas about science and literature and the way art and music should be, and everything starts changing in a hurry. Then along comes Monet and a bunch of artists with these strange new ideas and they just sort of light this match and burn down all the old walls set up by the 'Proper Art Critics'," Merlin made quotation marks with his fingers around the phrase.

"And they did it with pictures of flowers?" Arthur studied the painting, his brow knit in confusion. How exactly were flowers and garden scenes revolutionary?

"Actually, it was a picture of a sunset that gave Impressionism it's name, but that's not the point," Merlin said. "I mean, the subject's not so much the point. It was  _how_  they were done. With dots and blotches of paint and fuzzy edges instead of being all precise and perfect like most Western art had been up 'til then. Then other people like Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec came along, and painted prostitutes, drug users, and all kinds of lowly sorts of people that never really showed up in Big Art before. And, oh, the Establishment was throwing fits about it, but it was so radical for the time that it became a sensation. Like The Beatles or the Ramones. Now, though, we're so used to it that most people don't know how bizarre this stuff was when it showed up in galleries. Make a bit more sense now?"

"A bit," Arthur said slowly. "Still hard to see how this could spark a revolution in anything, but you're the one with the background in it, so I guess I'll believe you."

"Prat." Merlin smirked and tugged his sleeve again. "Come on. Let's look at something else. "

They made their way to another room less populated by tourists, and with paintings far older than the Monets they'd seen before. Here were scenes with oddly proportioned buildings with perspectives that didn't line up.

"Okay. The 1300s," Merlin said. "I know it all looks sort of amateurish, but it's brilliant for its time. We're coming out of the Middle Ages, when so much had been forgotten- a lot of the great Classical works were scattered or lost, and hardly anyone was getting an advanced education. So people had to sort of re-learn everything. So even though the Duccios," Merlin gestured one way, then the other, "and the Giottos had weird perspective, and the sizes of things are a little bizarre, that wasn't necessarily what was important. It was the symbolism involved and the stories they were telling that were key. But things change. Science comes back in, people start finding the old Classical works, and along comes the Renaissance."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm again, pulled him into yet another room, and sat him down on a padded bench in front a large painting of a woman in blue with an angel and a couple of infants among a series of rocks.

"Now this-" Merlin stopped, a look of pure adoration appearing on his face when he looked up at the painting. His smile was the kind normally reserved for churchyard angels. "This is pure Renaissance. Leonardo da Vinci. I'm sure even you've heard of him." Merlin winked at Arthur. "He saw himself more as a scientist, and less as an artist, though for him those two worlds sort of melded into one inseparable unit. Other artists were using all these perspective tricks. Da Vinci used them, too. Just differently.

"See, where others were trying to make things as realistic as possible, da Vinci would sort of fudge things. I mean, his perspective was dead on, and the people were accurate, but the whole scene wasn't always perfect. Maybe two people are almost occupying the same space, or the background doesn't line up. Maybe the landscape isn't anything you'd find in the world, but the unreality is shown so beautifully that you just don't  _care_.

"It's like. . . I don't know. Like a life well-lived, I suppose. You go through it, you make mistakes, good things happen, you meet new people and say good-bye to others. You find what you're really meant to do, or who you're meant to be with _._  And if at the end of it the good you've done far outweighs the bad, then you lived a good life. And maybe it was better than that. Maybe it was a masterpiece."

Arthur looked away from the painting and back at Merlin, whose eyes were fixed on da Vinci's masterwork. The adoring look had softened, blending with a wistful longing. He seemed to glow, like he was lit with a hundred candles instead of the museum's soft lights.

"Or at the very least, you find one transcendent moment and manage to make it last forever," Merlin said, his voice distant, as though he were talking to some past version of himself and not to Arthur at all.

He glanced up at the painting, then back at Merlin, and suddenly the brilliance of da Vinci had nothing on Merlin's flawed perfection. Despite the two-days' scruff on his jawline, the finger-combed mess of his hair, and the little white scar marring the smoothness of the high cheekbone, Merlin's face was the most beautiful thing in the room.

He turned, looking at Arthur over his shoulder. "What? "

"Come home with me tonight?" Arthur winced inwardly. He sounded like an idiot. Like some lonely, pathetic man who-

Merlin smiled. " I thought you'd never ask. "

 

* * *

 

They stopped for Chinese takeaway on the way back to Arthur's flat. Merlin spent the rest of the drive cradling an oversized cup of oolong tea, sipping only at red lights to keep from spilling on the immaculate interior of Arthur's BMW. "Belgravia looks different from the car. Ever notice that? The whole world looks different, depending on what sort of transportation you're taking. Changes your point of view. It'd be totally different if we were walking. "

"It'd be a lot colder, too," Arthur said. Once darkness had fallen, the rain had turned to snow. Fluffy flakes were dusting the streets with white and turning them into a slippery mess. He pulled the car into its normal parking spot and grabbed Merlin's pack out of the backseat while Merlin juggled the bag of food and their drinks, nearly slipping in the snow until Arthur steadied him with a hand at his elbow.

"Thanks for that."

"No problem." He let go as soon as he was sure Merlin wasn't about to fall and glanced around almost guiltily. It wasn't that Arthur didn't crave the physical contact with Merlin- he did. He wanted it more than anything else. But their meetings so far had been in public, and that slowly-shrinking part of him that was still worried about being outed by the press had kept him from touching much more than Merlin's arm or shoulder. The occasional hair ruffle was about as intimate as he'd gotten, save for a few chaste good-night kisses in the car. Maybe that would change soon.

Maybe it would change tonight.

The thought of it was a little terrifying.

"So this is your flat? And you live here all by yourself?" Merlin did a cute little dance as he kicked his wet shoes off onto the doormat. He padded into the living room, their drinks still in either hand and the bag with their food hanging off one wrist. "I think my whole flat could fit in your living room!" He laughed. "Where should I put this down? I feel like I'm going to mess the place up if I set it on the wrong table."

"Anywhere's fine." Arthur waved him on and shrugged Merlin's backpack off his shoulder. "Hand me your coat," he said when Merlin had set the food on the coffee table. "Bathroom's down the hall past the stairs, kitchen's past that in the back. There's another bathroom upstairs just off the guest bedroom." He was glad he was facing the closet when he mentioned the bedroom. He felt a blush rise on his cheeks and took his time straightening the coats until the heat left his face. Merlin had already dug into his meal when Arthur turned around.

"So you didn't answer the question. You live alone?" Arthur nodded. Merlin glanced around again, impressed. "Wow. You really are a posh bloke, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, my sister stays over now and then, but that's pretty much only when she wants to be a pain." Arthur grabbed a plastic fork and silently prayed to whoever was listening that Morgana didn't pick tonight to make a surprise appearance.

"Is that her?" Merlin used his chopsticks to point at a framed picture of Arthur and Morgana.

"Yeah. We were on holiday in Biarritz last year. I didn't like it all that much. Not that thrilled by beaches, but Morgana wanted to set Uther on his ear by making him think she was going to the nude beaches, and- well, I'm not sure why I'm telling you that." Arthur speared a piece of broccoli and set to chewing before he could say anything else stupid.

"I get the feeling she didn't actually want to go to the nude beach?" Merlin asked. Arthur shook his head. "I didn't think so. Morgana. Beautiful name, that. Comes from Wales, you know. 'Dwells by the sea'. She's prettier than her name. So how'd your funny-looking dad come up with two gorgeous children like you?"

Arthur blushed again. "Uh, well, we each take after our mothers. Morgana's actually my half-sister. It's a long story."

"I bet." Merlin mercifully dropped the subject and poked at his food. The peace didn't last long. He stuck his chopsticks into his rice and reached out to pick up the card on the coffee table. "Is this a birthday card? Is it your birthday?"

"Yes. Well, no. Not for a few days. Christmas Day, to be exact. Since pretty much everyone's just stuck Christmas and birthday stuff together for me, Morgana always either does it early or late. To differentiate it, she says. This year, we did the birthday thing early." Arthur shrugged and picked at his food. She'd taken him out to a dinner a few nights ago at his favorite restaurant, then dragged him back to her house for gifts, movies, and rather too much fine bourbon. It'd been an expensive ruse to get him to talk about what or who was putting the stupid smile on his face these days. Arthur was fairly certain he'd managed to keep his mouth shut.

Fairly certain. Not completely.

"Your birthday's on Christmas? That's kind of fantastic and terrible at the same time. Why didn't you tell me?" Merlin was smiling, but there was a hint of hurt in his eyes.

Arthur looked at the floor to avoid that look. "It's not a big deal, now, is it? Eighteen's great, it means you're an adult. Twenty-five's a milestone because you've survived a quarter of a century, and thirty means you're officially not a kid anymore. But otherwise what's the point?"

"A birthday's always a big deal. Means you've managed to make it another year. You've successfully circumnavigated the sun one more time. You should always do something fun for your birthday, whether you're turning six or thirty-six or whatever." There was a hollow thud as Merlin set his empty food container on the table. "So. What do you want for your birthday, then? Something cheap, okay? I'm not rich like you are. Anything? Books, music, DVD?"

Arthur grinned in spite of himself as a sudden warmth bloomed in his chest. Just like that, it seemed, he was forgiven for not telling Merlin about his birthday. There was the quicksilver mood at play again. "Actually..."

"Yeah?"

Arthur gave Merlin a coy, sidelong glance. "I, uh, I think I've already got what I want."

It took a moment for his meaning to soak in, then it was Merlin's turn to blush. That particular shade of pink suited him nicely. "Well. Um." He giggled and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"You asked."

"I guess I did, yeah. I was just expecting something a little more prosaic, you know? You done with that?" Merlin pointed at Arthur's takeaway box.

"Yes, but I can take care of it."

"Nope." Merlin was already on his feet and reaching for the box. "You bought it, I can put it away. Besides. It gives me an excuse to poke around a bit."

"Fine, then." Arthur rolled his eyes. "The bin's under the sink, light switch is on the left when you walk in." Merlin grinned as he collected the trash and disappeared down the hallway.

Arthur sighed and melted back into the chair. ' _What the hell am I doing? Do I even know where I want this night to go? Does he?"_  He rubbed his eyes and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He hadn't been lying when he told Merlin he had what he wanted for his birthday. He just didn't know if he wanted to stay up all night chatting with the man, or if he wanted to carry Merlin up to his bedroom and perform all manner of unspeakable acts of desperate passion with him.

Well. Part of him  _definitely_  wanted the second option.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his toes curling up in the thick carpet. Outside, flashing lights that had nothing to do with Christmas decorations lit up the gap between the curtains. The warbling wail of emergency sirens followed the appearance of the lights. Someone had probably lost control of their car on the slick streets and run into something. Or some _one_ , god forbid.

The sound drilled through Arthur's skull and into his brain, rattling his composure straight out of his head and setting his heart to racing.

" _No. Not now. Not tonight, of all nights. Come on, Arthur. Calm down…"_

His body refused to listen. It got worse, if anything. A distant rattling sounded like faint gunshots. The fading ambulance siren echoed through his mind like the sirens of Kandahar. He felt hot, suddenly, like the desert sun had shot through the London snow and was directing all its power on him.

He couldn't breathe.

" _Calm down, Arthur. Just breathe…"_

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his shaking hands. He managed a breath, then one more. His heart kept pounding.

" _Come on and breathe.."_

He was going to pass out if this didn't let up.

" _Breathe…"_

"Arthur? Can you hear me?"

A hand brushed over his brow and through his hair, then lightly grasped Arthur's arms. "Open your eyes, Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur forced his eyes open, his swimming vision locking onto Merlin's face.

"There you are. Keep looking at me. I've got you. I'm not letting go. You're going to be okay. Just focus on your breathing."

He gave Merlin a jerky nod and pulled in a shaky breath. Then another, and another.

"That's it. Just breathe." Merlin's voice was steady. He brushed slow circles on the backs of Arthur's hands. A gentle rhythm, like quiet ocean waves.

His heart slowed its frantic pounding. His breathing evened out. He shuddered and lowered his head nearly to his knees.

"Are you back with me?" Merlin asked. He wrapped his hands around Arthur's.

"Yeah." Arthur nodded without looking up.

"Okay." Merlin's grip tightened. "Does this happen very often?" he asked quietly.

"Once or twice a month, is all."

"Are you seeing anyone about it?" Merlin asked.

"No," Arthur admitted after a moment. "Doesn't happen very often, anyway. Don't want people thinking I'm some kind of nutter, do I?"

Merlin's silence was strangely loud. "Look at me, Arthur," he said at last. He put a finger under Arthur's chin and raised his head until he couldn't look away anymore. "This doesn't make you crazy. It's your brain reacting to things no human being should go through. The mind needs healing, just like the body does. Asking for help doesn't make you weak."

Arthur let out a bitter laugh. "My father-"

"Fuck what your father says!" Merlin nearly shouted. He pursed his lips and let a long breath out through his nose before he went on. "I don't know him, but I think I've met people like him. They think you should 'be a man', and tough this out with a stiff upper lip and all that bullshite. And that's just what it is. Pure, utter, shite. They don't know what you've been through. They don't know what it does to you. There's no shame in asking for help. None at all. It doesn't make you crazy. It just makes you human."

Arthur swallowed back the lump in his throat. "You sound like you've said that a time or two," he said roughly.

"Yeah, well, my life hasn't all been pretty paintings and handsome blonds." Merlin ran a hand through Arthur's hair. He struggled not to lean too far into it. "I can tell you that if you let this go, it might get worse instead of better. Remember what Nietzsche said?"

Arthur threw him an annoyed look. "Why would I remember what Nietzsche said?"

"Because I expect an educated bloke like you to have a working knowledge of philosophy." Merlin's sad smile faded. "But anyway. Back to Nietzsche. He said, 'when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you'. You're looking into the darkness, Arthur, and it's starting to stare back at you. If you let it go too far-" Merlin broke off and looked away. His jaw clenched, and Arthur pretended not to notice the moisture gathering in his eyes.

"What is it?"

Merlin licked his lips. "I- I, uh…" His voice was shaking. He took a minute to calm himself before he tried again. "I've been where you are, Arthur. And I know something of where you're going. Where you might be going. And it's nowhere good." He let go of Arthur's hand and tugged the long sleeves of his hoodie upward. He put his hands side by side over Arthur's, palms up, revealing a pair of long white scars tracing the big, blue vein of each arm, starting at the wrists and fading away before they reached his elbows.

"Oh… Merlin…" Arthur folded Merlin's hands around his own and kissed the slender fingers.

"I've gotten better since then. Mostly. I just- I wanted you to know that you're not alone. Other people have faced the same sorts of demons that you have, and they've survived them. With help. You're not weak for asking, or crazy, or anything like that." Merlin pulled his hands out of Arthur's grip and tugged his sleeves back down. "I know some people. Therapists and whatnot. I can give you their numbers, if you want."

"I- Yeah. I guess. Maybe. Can't hurt to give it a try." He gave Merlin a wavering smile. Then he glanced over Merlin's shoulder, and the look turned wry. "Have something in mind with that?"

Merlin looked back at the bottle of white wine, corkscrew, and the pair of wine glasses on the coffee table behind him. "Oh, that," he chuckled. "It was there, it looked good, and I was kind of assuming that maybe you had something in mind when you invited me over, so I figured I'd try to help set the mood."

"I did a good job of killing it just now, though, didn't I?" Arthur rubbed his eyes and sank back into the chair. A needle-spike of a headache was building in his left temple.

"Life happens." Merlin grabbed his hands and tugged at Arthur until he stood up. "How about we pick out a movie, curl up on this comfy couch of yours, and see where the night takes us?"

"I'd say that sounds all right."

 

* * *

 

By the time midnight rolled around, they ended up in bed after all. Just not in the way Arthur had wanted.

The wine stayed where Merlin had left it, undrunk and uncorked on the coffee table. Arthur had picked out a movie- an action film he was sure he wouldn't fall asleep during, despite feeling as worn out as if he'd run a marathon. But when he found himself wrapped up in Merlin's arms with the other man's fingers winding through his hair and drawing slow circles with his thumb over Arthur's brow, his shoulders, his collarbones, he couldn't resist when his eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way.

Next thing he knew, the credits were rolling and Merlin was whispering in his ear, "Arthur? Do you want to go up to bed?"

Arthur mumbled an affirmative and did his best impression of a human adult on the way up the stairs. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the covers, aware of just one thing before sleep claimed him again- Merlin had slipped into bed next to him and curled up, one hand resting on Arthur's chest. He smiled. Maybe it wasn't quite what he'd intended, but there they were. Sleeping.

Together.

 

* * *

 

The clock read 2:37 when Arthur woke, fully alert for no apparent reason. He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair before letting his arm flop onto the bed beside him. He jumped, an apology on his lips when he looked over to find nothing. Merlin wasn't there. Arthur pushed himself up and frowned, looking around on the bed for him as though there was enough space on the king-sized monstrosity for a tall, lanky man to hide. "Merlin?" he said, voice rough with sleep.

" _Did I just dream all that?"_

No, he hadn't, he realized when he saw the outline of Merlin's backpack slouched against the wall and his jeans, hoodie, and t-shirt in their messy pile on the floor. No light showed under the bathroom door, and Arthur couldn't hear a shower running anywhere. Not that he really expected Merlin to be showering at 2:38 in the morning, but he did have his strange habits.

There was a noise from downstairs. Arthur held still, trying to place where it was coming from, and what it was. The noise came again. From the kitchen. It sounded like... dishes rattling in the sink? " _What is he doing?"_

Arthur flipped the covers off, suppressed a shiver at the cooler air, and padded down the stairs.

The kitchen was dim. Merlin hadn't turned the overhead light on, choosing instead to use the light over the stove and a few candles to illuminate his project. It was a task that seemed to involve a number of ingredients spread out across the counter and a recipe on the smartphone glowing beside a mixing bowl.

"What are you doing?"

Merlin jumped, his eyes wide as he focused on Arthur. He laughed. It sounded both relieved and a little guilty. "I couldn't sleep. A touch of insomnia, you know. Happens a lot. I usually just get up and paint, but," he shrugged and twirled a finger around in a circle, "I don't exactly have my paints and canvases here. Sooo. I decided to bake you a cake for your birthday. Good thing you had all the ingredients."

"I do a lot of my own cooking. Why didn't you turn the light on? You'd be able to see better."

"Oh, that." Merlin ducked his head and grinned, brushing a finger over his lips. "Weird habit. I hate the light in my flat's kitchen. It's all fluorescent and green. Everyone looks ill under it, and makes the food look like it's going bad. So I don't even turn it on. Just use candles to cook by. It's a nice effect. Kind of romantic, wouldn't you say?"

"For your flatmate?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"No. Will just rolls his eyes and eats his cereal." Merlin looked away and tapped his smartphone to put it to sleep before picking the mixing bowl up, swirling the spoon around in the batter to finish blending the sugar into the mix. "I hope you like chocolate cake." He looked up through his lashes at Arthur.

"Yeah, it's fine. You didn't have to bake me a cake, though."

"Haven't quite baked it, now have I? Are you feeling better?" Merlin asked.

"Yeah." It was true. His headache had faded, and the shakiness that marked the passage of an anxiety attack was gone.

"Good." An impish grin spread across Merlin's face as he flicked the batter-laden spoon at Arthur, spattering his chest and neck with gobs of chocolate.

"What the hell was that-?"

Merlin silenced his question with a kiss, strong and almost rough. His tongue touched against Arthur's lips, retreating when Arthur didn't immediately yield. He tasted of cocoa, salt, and a little bit of heaven.

And Arthur… was too stunned to respond in kind. Merlin started to pull away.

A low, soft growl sounded from Arthur's throat. He closed his eyes brought his hand up, caught Merlin at the back of his neck and wound his fingers into his dark hair to keep him close. They melted against each other, all lips and grasping hands and too-hot skin until the demands of air-starved lungs forced them apart, gasping.

Arthur opened his eyes to watch Merlin. He stood still, inches away and shaking. His eyes were still closed. He licked his lips and smiled. "I've been wanting to do that all fucking night."

"Really?" Arthur laughed. "I've been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you."

"And yet I'm the one who had to take the initiative."

"Shut up, you." Arthur planted another, quick kiss on Merlin's lips and ran his hand down his naked back. "What was that all about with the cake batter? Trying to start a food fight?"

Merlin nuzzled his neck. "I'm trying to start  _something_." His tongue flicked out, brushing along the skin under Arthur's jaw as he licked the cake batter away. "Unless…" Merlin's tongue moved to the hollow of his throat "... you want me…" to the soft spot under his collar bone "... to stop." He pulled away, leaving a breath of cool air in his wake.

Arthur shuddered, a thrill of pleasure running along his spine from the top of his head all the way down to his curling toes. "Don't stop…"

"Are you sure?"

Arthur looked deep into Merlin's eyes and saw the same desire that must have been in his own. "I'm sure."

"Then close your eyes, and let me..." Merlin kissed him hard on the lips again, one hand raking through Arthur's hair and down, his fingertips brushing Arthur's cheek before moving downward, tracing along his jaw, across the lines of his throat, and down his chest. His lips and tongue followed suit, licking away the spatters of chocolate and pulling gasps of pleasure from Arthur's throat. He wound his fingers back into Merlin's hair, not to guide his movements but to keep himself grounded, keep himself from dissolving into blackness as Merlin's lips found one sensitive spot after another, moving ever downward.

There was a soft thud when Merlin's knees hit the floor. One hand found Arthur's and clasped it tightly. The other tugged at his boxers.

Then…bliss. Pure, heavenly bliss.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, they ended up in Arthur's bed again.

It was a long time before they slept.

 

* * *

 

The clock read 6:12 when Arthur woke for the second time. He lay still, boneless and warm and content from the night's pleasures, feeling as rested as if he'd slept for a week. It seemed that despite the exertion involved, a couple of hours of foreplay and sex was as refreshing as sleep itself. His lips curved upward in a contented smile as he pulled the covers to his chin. They smelled like Merlin.

He rolled over, his hands reaching out for Merlin in the darkness. But Merlin wasn't there.

Arthur sat up, his heart racing, looking around in panic. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt Merlin somehow?

Had Merlin left him?

There was a light under the bathroom door, and the faint sound of the shower running.

" _No, idiot. You're sleeping with an insomniac."_  Arthur grinned, partly to laugh at himself, and partly in relief. As much of a novice as he was at this, he hadn't been so terrible that he'd driven Merlin away. Merlin, who had been more prepared for the night's exertions that Arthur had thought.

He'd made a beeline for his backpack when they'd made it back up to the bedroom, pulling out an extra change of clothes and a little travel bag of toiletries before tossing a pack of condoms at Arthur.

" _What did you think I was carrying around in here?"_ He'd asked when Arthur gave him a confused look. " _Paints and a spare canvas? Do you know how long I've been wanting this?"_

" _Every bit as long as I have?"_

Arthur slipped out from under the covers and opened the bathroom door. He winced at the brightness of the light and leaned against the door jamb, just watching Merlin through the clear shower door. The lower half was fogged up, blocking his view of everything below Merlin's waist, but seeing just his back was good enough. He was thin and lithe and wiry, with just enough muscle to keep from being bony. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him.

What there was, was a tattoo. A gorgeous, winding linework tattoo of a black dragon on his back, its wings spread out over his shoulder blades, its head reaching up toward the base of his neck, and tail traveling down his spine to his tailbone. The black was a stark contrast against Merlin's moon pale skin, the water running over his skin outlining every bone and muscle.

He was beautiful. Every bit as luminous as his own paintings or the da Vinci he adored so much.

"Are you going to come in, or are you just going to stand there and let all the warm air out?" Merlin looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes half-lidded and beckoning.

Arthur pushed the door aside and stepped in. The water was hot, almost scalding. He wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist and rested his chin on Merlin's shoulder, letting the water run freely down the both of them.

"You know," Merlin said, reaching up to rest his hand on Arthur's head, "I think I might like your shower more than I like you."

Arthur chuckled. "If that's the case, then my shower is free for you to use anytime. Especially when I'm in it, too. Think of all the things we could do in here."

"Is this your way of asking for an encore?"

"I wouldn't turn you down if you offered," Arthur said.

"Hmm." Merlin smiled and twisted around in his grasp. He wrapped his arms about Arthur's neck. "That sounds nice, but…" He kissed Arthur full on the lips. "You have to go to work, and so do I."

"I thought you didn't have to go to the gallery until this afternoon?"

"No, but I am a painter. I have to paint sometime. Fortunately, I do my best work when I'm happy," Merlin's lips brushed along Arthur's cheek. "And right now, I am very, very happy," he whispered in his ear.

It sent a chill down Arthur's spine in spite of the heat. "I am, too."

"I'm glad." They rested their foreheads against each other's, soaking in the shower's warmth and each other's company.

"Will I get to see you around Christmas?" Merlin asked suddenly. "You said you were going out to Glastonbury until the New Year. I could catch a train out from my Mum's place in Cardiff, maybe hire a car if need be…?"

"Um…" Arthur pulled away, unable to look into Merlin's eyes. "Merlin, I- My father, he doesn't know. About us. Or even about me. You've seen the papers. You know what he thinks of… of people like us."

"I've heard," Merlin said, his expression suddenly guarded. "So you don't want me to come and see you at Glastonbury, then?"

"I do! Merlin, I do, it's just- It's complicated. You know how it is."

"I know I had it figured out when I was twelve and told my Mum when I was thirteen. It didn't take Will too long to figure it out, either. I've been honest about who I am. It's never seemed that complicated to me." Merlin turned away and stepped out of the shower, but not before Arthur saw the hurt in his eyes.

" _Dammit."_ Arthur swiped water out of his face and turned off the taps before moving to follow Merlin. He grabbed a towel on his way out, scrubbing it over his face and hair before wrapping it around himself.

Merlin had pulled on his jeans already. His t-shirt, wet in spots, clung to his torso, and his hair dripped onto the floor from where he sat on the edge of the bed. Arthur knelt in front of him, reaching up to brush a tangle of hair away from his face. "I wish I could be like you, Merlin. I wish I could tell all the world and not worry about who knows, but…" Words failed him.

"But you're worried about what your father thinks. You're worried about what the press thinks." Merlin moved to brush his hand away, then wound his fingers around Arthur's. "Don't you worry about your own happiness, or do other people's concerns fill up your head so much you don't have room to think of yourself anymore?"

"I… I don't know."

"You should take some time to figure it out. Sounds like you'll have plenty of time this week, yeah?" A wavering smile pulled at Merlin's lips as he kissed Arthur's fingers. "You should get ready for work. It's still snowing. It'll take longer to drive there. And I like seeing you in a suit."

"All right, then. We can stop off for coffee and pastry somewhere, too. I'd say we could have cake, but that one never made it into the oven," Arthur said.

That brought a faint smile back to Merlin's face. "I don't regret that, though."

"Neither do I."

 

* * *

 

It took a large mocha and the best brioche in Belgravia to put the smile firmly back on Merlin's face. Stopping at the coffee shop was going to make him late for work, but Arthur decided it was worth it to see that smile one more time before he headed to Glastonbury for the week. He knew he wasn't fully forgiven for being such a disappointment, but it was a start.

His lousy attempts as gossiping helped. Merlin was laughing by the time they made it back to the car, a second mocha in hand. He went through coffee faster than anyone else Arthur knew.

"You'll have your phone with you, yeah? So I can text you at inappropriate times?"

"Yes, I will have my phone with me. And I expect you to text at any time. You already do. Why should my being out of town change things?" Arthur rested his hand on Merlin's, folding his fingers around the other man's.

"Because you sometimes have aspirations of being a complete prat, that's why." He leveled a smirk at Arthur before turning to stare out the window. He was quiet for a while. "I'll email you that list tonight. Or tomorrow, maybe. I'll have to track it down."

"What list?"

"Therapists, remember? Promise me you'll look into it?" Merlin looked back at him before Arthur finally glanced at him and nodded. "Thank you. You can let me out up there."

"I can take you all the way home. They won't mind if I'm a little late."

"Oh, the privileges of being a City Boy," Merlin chuckled. "You shouldn't be late if you don't have to be, Arthur. That's one of my stops, anyway. It'll take me pretty much straight home."

"Are you sure? It's snowing," Arthur said skeptically. He was reluctant to let Merlin go any sooner than he had to. They wouldn't be seeing each other until New Year's, after all, and that was a long week away.

"It's fine. I've walked through worse. Like I said, I don't want you to be late, okay?"

Arthur sighed and pulled into a spot that wasn't quite a parking spot. "All right. I'll call when I get to Glastonbury. It'll probably be late, though."

"Don't worry about it. Insomnia, remember?" Merlin tapped his forehead before reaching down to grab his backpack. He leaned over the armrest to give Arthur a long, but somehow chaste goodbye kiss. "I'll be awake at random times. Don't worry about waking me. Whatever you want to talk about, I want to hear from you." He reached for the door handle, then paused. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Consider how much longer you want to keep secrets from everyone around you. It's not good for you. Will you do that? For me?" There was a pleading look in Merlin's eyes that turned Arthur's stomach. He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"I promise. I don't want us to be a secret forever."

"Thank you." Merlin smiled sweetly and opened the door, hurrying out of the way to close it again before he let in too much cold air.

Arthur watched him walk away toward the Underground station, treading carefully on the slippery pavement. Merlin turned back once to look at Arthur before disappearing through the doors, but his smile was obscured by the falling snow.


	4. Chapter 4

_"There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast."_  
-Charles Dickens

* * *

 

Normally, Arthur hated it when an abundance of snow choked the streets of London and turned them into an icy, slushy mess that no one could traverse even with four-wheel drive. He loathed being snowbound in his flat. Cabin fever seemed to set in in under two hours whenever he was stuck anywhere, leaving him restless, anxious, and filled with the desire to be somewhere other than where he was.

But tonight was different. If the snow had kept falling, then maybe Arthur could have canceled dinner with his father in Glastonbury, citing the inherent dangers of driving through snow when no one had the foggiest idea how to navigate through the stuff. Maybe he could have gone out for dinner with Merlin instead and talked him into coming home with him again. They might have successfully baked a cake this time. Or they could have just made frosting as a follow-up and decorated each other with it, prompting the need for more time in the shower. How completely, fucking brilliant would that have been?

Instead, the snow had stopped falling before noon and the temperature had risen just above the freezing point. By five o'clock, only the tip-tops of drifts were left over, and Arthur found himself traversing the M3 to Glastonbury, and not puzzling his way through the winding streets of the West End. He would have preferred braving snow and the endless pedestrian traffic to what was waiting for him at the manor house.

He would have preferred a week in Kandahar to dinner with his family that night.

Both Uther and Morgana could be charming as hell when they wanted to be. It was why they were so good at their chosen professions- Uther could smile as brightly as anyone and tempt the minds and votes of his fellow lawmakers in Parliament, while all Morgana had to do to get verdicts to turn in her clients' favor was flash a ten-thousand watt smile at the judge and jury. Arthur's talents didn't run that way. Yes, he was cool under fire able to think on his feet while being shot at, but he sucked at schmoozing. That seemed to be what politics and law were all about these days. Charm and being able to smile at someone when you really wanted to choke the life out of them.

Of course, neither Uther nor Morgana were smiling right now. They looked like they were ready to throttle each other. Their fury, when it made itself known, was legendary.

Morgana had a glass of wine in hand, and by the way her eyelids hooded her pale eyes, it wasn't her first of the evening. She was perched in her seat, studiously ignoring their father as she stared down her food. She hadn't eaten any of it. Judging from impending explosion that Arthur was sure was about to hit, he doubted she'd be eating at all that night.

Uther sat at the head of the table, draped in his chair like it was a bloody throne with his hands steepled in front of him. All he needed was a crown on his head to make him look like some king from the Dark Ages, ready to cast judgment on the one who had betrayed him. "And  _what_  do you mean by  _that_ , Morgana?" He gestured toward the pair of newspapers he'd thrown onto the table when he'd first come in. They were tabloids, really. The sort of gossip rags that sensible people didn't pay much attention to. But Arthur and Morgana had never accused Uther of having much sense when it came to the family image.

Morgana sipped at her wine as the silence lengthened between them all. She finally looked up, giving the papers an uninterested look as though it wasn't her picture on the front of both of them. Her, and a man Uther most definitely did not approve of. "What I mean by that, is that a charming man asked me to dinner, and I said yes. And I enjoyed his company so much, that we've gone out another few times. You were just saying last month that you wished I'd found a husband already. Alvarr has been quite the gentleman. He's handsome, wealthy, and in politics. Just like you are." Morgana's smile held no humor.

"He's a radical, a degenerate, and a homosexual. He's only interested in you because you're my daughter. He wouldn't have spoken to you otherwise," Uther spat. "It's a political gambit, Morgana. One that he's going to lose. You're not to see him again." Uther's words were clipped and cold. Orders, not suggestions.

"I'm not thirteen. I'll see him again if I bloody well choose to." Morgana's fingers tightened around her glass, and for a moment it look like she was holding a cup of blood, not a glass of red wine. "You only call him a radical because he doesn't agree with you. And he's bisexual, not gay."

"Is that supposed to make him less revolting somehow? I forbid you to see him again, Morgana, and that's the end of it."

"And what will you do to me if I do?" Morgana narrowed her eyes and set the wine glass down. Perhaps she was afraid she'd throw it at Uther. Or maybe she just didn't want him to see how her hands were shaking. "I'm thirty years old, Uther. It's not as though you can actually stop me from doing as I please. So tell me. What are you going to do if I keep seeing him?"

Uther unfolded his hands and leaned forward, his eyes intent on his daughter, studying her, looking for some sort of weakness. "Is it really your desire to bring shame onto this family? To besmirch our reputation? Our honour?"

"I think you did that well enough in your own time. Or were you  _not_  married to Igraine when I came along?" Morgana's hands were steady now. She lifted her chin, staring right back at Uther as though this were a courtroom, and he was the defense attorney she was trying to beat. "Or is everyone a sinner except for you?"

"Do not bring your slut mother into this," Uther said, his voice low, his anger barely contained.

"Oh, is she a whore now because she fell for your charms?" Morgana laughed. "It's always the woman's fault, isn't it, when a man can't keep it in his pants. You saw a pretty face and couldn't resist, and then you blamed her for it. If I hadn't come along, and if she hadn't died, what would you have done? Kept on screwing another man's wife while your own waited patiently at home for you to come back to her?"

"How dare you!"

"How dare  _you_ ," Morgana shot back. "You criticize everyone around you for their slightest flaws, but you refuse to admit your own sins. You're as much of a hypocrite as the next man, and you're so far behind the times that I'm surprised you can even tell the time, Uther. You're living in a bygone era. The Dark Ages were a long, long time ago. Even the Victorians are long gone. The world is passing you by. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but a derelict. An old man, ridiculed by everyone around you-"

"Enough!" Uther's face had turned red, his eyes burning in his head like old coals. "I don't want to hear another word from you, Morgana. I took you in out of charity after your mother died, and what have you done to repay me? You've become the same sort of wretched libertine as your mother. If you dare see that man again, I will disown you."

Morgana sat back in her chair. Her face went pale and her jaw clenched. "You do that, then. See how well it plays on the news. Just see how people will laugh at you. ' _Uther Pendragon, Leader of the House of Lords, disowns his daughter because she went on a date_ '. I can see it in the headlines now. Disown me, and you be the laughingstock of the British Parliament." She shoved away from the table, her hands slamming against its surface hard enough to rattle the dishes. Her wine glass tipped over, spilling its crimson contents across the dark wood. She ignored it as she stormed away.

"That was uncalled for," Arthur said in the silence that followed. "You know her temperament. You know she pushes people just to get a rise out of them. It's part of who she is, and she gets it from you."

"And I should have taught her better manners when she was a child." Uther wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed his plate away. It looked like he'd lost his appetite. Arthur had, too. "The Pendragon name is as old and as well-respected as any in England. I will not have her destroy the reputation of this family because some pervert with an expensive car smiled at her."

Arthur nearly blurted out, ' _I'm a gay man with an expensive car. Does that make me a pervert, too?',_ but he managed to keep his mouth shut. "Is that really all you think about? The family honour? She's your  _daughter_."

"She would do well to remember that." Uther pushed back from the table and stalked away, leaving Arthur alone with a few wide-eyed members of the wait staff looking on.

Arthur pursed his lips and threw his napkin on the table. "I'm sorry you all had to hear that." He threw a glance over his shoulder at the nearest girl, offering her an apologetic smile. And I'm sorry all your efforts were for nothing," he said, gesturing at the mostly uneaten meal on the table. "Please, clear all this away and then go home. Start your weekend early and don't worry about what  _he says_ ," Arthur gestured to where Uther had disappeared. " He'll cool off soon enough. Have a good weekend."

He pushed away from the table in time to hear the front door slam. He'd nearly made it toward said door when he heard the distant rumble of an engine start up and the squeal of tires on the drive."Dammit, Morgana." Arthur sighed and pulled his mobile out of his pocket, thumbing past both the lockscreen and the notification for the three texts he'd gotten from Merlin.

Morgana didn't answer his first call or any of the four attempts he made over the next half hour, so he phoned the next best person. "Hi, Gwen, it's Arthur. Listen, Morgana- yeah, we made it out to Glastonbury despite the snow, but anyway. Morgana and Uther had a row just now, and she stormed out-" Arthur winced and held the phone away from his ear until Gwen's squawk of outrage quieted. "Yes, it was over those pictures in those stupid gossip rags. Uther took exception, they had a fight, and now Morgana won't answer my calls. If you hear from here, will you let me know? I'd like to talk to her before she does anything stupid…"

* * *

Two hours later, Arthur was knocking on an unfamiliar guest house door in Glastonbury proper. He had Morgana's suitcase at his side and a bag of Indian takeaway in hand. "Morgana?" he said, his nose a few inches from the heavy white door. "It's Arthur. I come in peace. And bearing gifts, even."

Arthur thought he saw the curtain twitch in the window, and a few moments later the door opened a few inches. "What are you doing here? And how'd you find me?" She stepped aside and let him in, taking the bag of food off his hands so he could take his coat off. Morgana's eyes were a little bleary, but not from sleep. He knew her well enough to see that she'd been crying and had hastily wiped her eyes to pretend otherwise. Arthur decided to indulge her.

"I have my ways," Arthur said. Morgana raised a finely shaped eyebrow at him, one hand on her hip. The sort of posture that told him he wasn't going to get anywhere if he didn't tell her. "Fine. Lance told me via Gwen while you were on the phone with her."

"So that's why she was so keen on knowing the name of the place. I thought she wanted to stay with me when they come up next week."

"For my surprise party?" Arthur grinned.

"Yeah. Why do we always pretend it's a surprise? It never is." Morgana collapsed onto the couch and dug into the bag, pulling out the tandoori chicken she already knew was for her.

"Well, it's nice to keep up the fiction, isn't it?" Arthur kicked his shoes off and plopped down next to her, fishing his own food out along with the two bottles of Coke. "Are you all right?"

Morgana nodded. But if Arthur had to judge her mood from the way she stabbed her chicken, he'd have to say she definitely wasn't okay. "I don't know why I let him get to me like that. It's not like I care all that much about Alvarr. I mean, I wasn't lying when I said he was bi. He is. And he did ask me to dinner a few times. But it's not going to go anywhere. He's got his politics, and I've got my work. And maybe I did tell him yes just to tweak Uther's nose a bit. But nothing I've done warranted that sort of treatment." She clenched her jaw, but her face started to crumple in spite of it. "And what he said about my mother…"

"Hey, now." Arthur wrapped his arm around Morgana's shoulder, drawing her close, and giving her a kiss on the top of the head. "You know how he is. Blaming everyone else for his problems. Never takes the blame himself. He's a proper politician."

"And look at us. His harlot daughter and perverted son. What a family we make." Morgana poked at her food again and giggled suddenly. "So much for the family name, hmm? Didn't take much for us to tear all that down, did it?"

"I think the family honour will survive us. Maybe it won't survive Uther, but it'll survive our reputations. It's the twenty-first century, after all."

"Mmm." Morgana agreed around a mouthful of chicken and rice. " You know, we never finished that conversation we had the other night."

"Which one? The one I was too drunk to remember having? I barely remember what it was about." Truth be told, Arthur remembered it well enough to know that Morgana had been fishing for information about Merlin, and he'd just been too unsure of himself to reveal anything.

"Yes, that one," Morgana said. She snuggled closer to Arthur and grabbed one of the Cokes. "You've been walking around with that stupid grin on your face for the past few weeks. I want to know what- or who- put it there. Is that asking so much?"

"I suppose not," Arthur admitted. He set his rice aside- he hadn't ordered much for himself- and tugged his smartphone out of his pocket. "Promise you won't tell anyone about this? They don't know, and I'd like to be the one who tells them." He looked her in the eye until she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Is this the only way I get to find out about the mystery man?" Morgana asked.

"Yes. I know them all, and I trust them, but... You saw how Uther reacted to your ending up in the tabloids. Can you imagine what he'll do to me?"

She sighed, and the disappointed look flashed through her eyes, making his stomach knot uncomfortably until she half-smiled again. "All right, then. I'll keep your secret. Now tell me."

"Okay," Arthur grinned and thumbed past the lock screen and flipped through to the camera roll. "His name's Merlin. I met him about a month ago. Kind of in Hyde Park."

"Kind of? How do you 'kind of' meet someone?"

"He was lighting up a cigarette, and the light caught my eye. But I lost sight of him in the dark and I was on my way to Lance's party, so I went on. Figured I'd never see him again. But a week or so later, I was sitting in a coffee shop and there he was. He left me his number and the rest is history." Arthur flicked through the various pictures until he found the one he was looking for.

"Is that him?" Morgana asked..

"Yeah, that's him." Merlin had snapped the picture on his own phone one night while they were on their way to dinner. He'd meant for it to be a picture of the two of them, but he'd missed and ended up with with a picture of himself and about a third of Arthur's face. When Merlin texted him the image later that night, he'd dubbed it " _M + dinner date_ ". Merlin giggled whenever he saw it, but Arthur didn't see the humor in it. He kept it because Merlin looked adorable, with that beanie pulled down low over his forehead and a manic grin absolutely lighting up his face.

"He is gorgeous." Morgana set her food aside and snatched the phone away from him. She flicked her fingers across the screen, zooming in on the picture until it was just Merlin's face in the frame. The smile on her face made her look half her age. Happy again, without a care in the world. It made sharing his secret with her worth it, to see Morgana light up with excitement after the disaster that dinner had been. "It always happens that way, doesn't it?"

"What happens?"

"Oh, you've heard it before. The best ones are always taken or gay. Or both." Morgana sighed as she handed the phone back. "How does my stupid little brother warrant an angel like that?"

"Dumb luck, I suppose. Or maybe it's all the coffee and pizza I buy him. I swear. He's skinny as a rail. You could feed him nothing but steak and chocolate and he wouldn't gain an ounce. I don't know how some people do that." He flipped back to the texts he'd ignored earlier.

' _@ Pddngtn. Lvng 4 Crdff in 20 Txt wn U get 2 Glasbury'_

' _in Crdff. Mum sends her luv. text whn U get this'_

The last one wasn't so old. It had probably come in while Uther and Morgana had been engaged in their shouting match.

' _Getting worried. You're not dead in a ditch somewhere, r u? If I don't hear from you by 11, I'm going to call and keep calling til someone answers.'_

"You should probably respond to that. It's already ten-thirty. Best not leave him hanging any longer," Morgana said. She uncapped her Coke and took a long drink. The look in her eyes was familiar. It was the kind of expression that told Arthur he wasn't going to get anything more out of her until he did exactly what she wanted him to do. He was far too accustomed to that look. She'd been giving it to him since she was twelve, and Arthur was always hard-pressed to remember a time when he hadn't eventually given in to her.

"Probably should. He only writes in complete sentences on special occasions." Arthur held the phone loosely, thumbs poised over the screen as he tried to figure out what to write. Then he grinned.

' _Sorry to worry you. Had to deal with family. Morgana tried to get herself disowned. In other words, a normal Friday night in the Pendragon household.'_

"Hey!" Morgana planted a hand on Arthur's chest and made a grab for the phone. Arthur hit 'send' just in time, twisting his arm behind his back to keep it away from her. He snaked his other arm around her so he could find that particular spot below her ribs that was a thousand times more ticklish than the rest of her. He dug in until she dissolved into a helpless mess of giggles. "Stop!" she squeaked, an octave or so higher than normal.

"What do you say?" Arthur asked.

"Now!" Morgana gasped. She managed to twist around in his grasp and nail him in the stomach with her elbow.

"Ow," Arthur grunted, more from surprise than pain. "All right, then. I'm stopping." He tickled her one last time for good measure.

"Arthur! " Morgana smacked him upside the head for good measure before curling up against him. "So what's he like? I want to know everything."

" He-" The phone dinged. " He just sent me a text."

"He has a special text alert? That's sweet."

"Yeah, I have the alerts specialised, so when I get a text from you I know to ignore it." Arthur said. He held the phone away so Morgana couldn't see the screen. Merlin's text was plainly written for once. And explicit. Subtly, deliciously erotic. Arthur grinned. "He really does like my shower."

"I didn't realize things had progressed that far," Morgana said archly. She looked like a cat that had found the loveliest dish of cream in the world.

"God.. I said that aloud, didn't I?" His cheeks were on fire. Arthur pushed the button to put the phone to sleep and shoved it in his back pocket. Whatever arousal Merlin's words had inspired in him had fizzled at the sound of Morgana's voice. But maybe later, in the privacy of his own room, he could revisit the notion...

Arthur cleared his throat and willed his blushes away. Later. When Morgana wasn't staring at him like that. "Yes," he said, "things have progressed that far. And that's all you're getting from me on the subject." There was no way he was going to tell her about last night. About Merlin's cocoa flavored lips or the strength of his hands; how delicate the skin in the hollow of his throat was, or the dragon tattoo spread out against Merlin's back. Those were Arthur's details to know, and his alone.

"Does he make you happy?" Morgana's voice was gentle, her smile soft.

"He does, yeah. I don't know how I lucked into this. Feels like a dream sometimes." Arthur said.

"And do you make him happy?"

His first instinct was to figuratively bite her head off. What sort of absurd notion was that, to ask if Arthur was making Merlin happy? Of  _course_  he was, or why would Merlin keep coming back? Why would he have started baking Arthur a birthday cake, or done any of those  _marvelous_  things to him after the cake failed to make it to the oven?

But as he drew in a breath to snap at Morgana for the stupidity of the question, he remembered the slump of Merlin's shoulders after their shower, and how angry he had been when Arthur admitted to not getting psychological help for fear of what his father would think. And then there was that kicked-puppy look in Merlin's eyes when he made Arthur promise to start telling the truth about himself and their relationship.

Maybe it wasn't such a stupid question after all.

"I-" Arthur cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "I'm trying. I manage it sometimes, and God if that isn't the best feeling ever. He lights up like a," he chuckled at the metaphor that came to mind, "well, like a kid on Christmas morning. And then I'll say something completely stupid or thoughtless, and he gets this look on his face like I've run over his Mum's cat. I try to make him happy. I really do, but sometimes, I…" Arthur shook his head. "I don't know. I'm kind of a mess right now."

Morgana's smile held nothing but understanding. She hooked her arm around his and rested her head against his shoulder. "This whole family's a mess," she said. "We've got all the money, land, and titles a person could ask for, but we don't seem to have figured out how to squeeze happiness out of it. Sort of makes you wish we weren't so rich and noble, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Arthur sighed. The notion that it was the wealth and prestige that made the Pendragon family miserable seemed too easy an answer. And if the scars on Merlin's wrists and the ghosts in his eyes were any indication, happiness was just as elusive to someone who didn't have everything money could buy. "Maybe we're giving the stuff too much credit, and it's on us to figure out what happiness is supposed to be."

"That was profound. I'm impressed," Morgana said.

"I have the occasional moment of insight," Arthur replied.

"Very occasional." She pulled away from him and retreated the last few inches to the edge of the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest. In her pyjamas and without makeup, her hair in a loose braid down her back, Morgana looked like a twelve-year getting ready for a game of Truth or Dare at a slumber party. "Now. Tell me all about Merlin. If I'm doomed to have a lousy love life, then I want to live vicariously through you, all right?"

Arthur scoffed. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Morgana trying to experience a love life of any kind by listening to his idle ramblings. But his heart was leaping at the chance to tell anyone about Merlin, and about how deliriously happy he was. And this was Morgana, his bitchy big sister, and he was her stupid little brother. If he couldn't tell her, then who in the world could he spill everything to?

"Fine," he said at last. "I'm not going to tell you everything, because there are some things that should come from him." Morgana nodded at that. "Okay, then. Merlin. What's Merlin like? Well, to start with, he's an artist. Paints these beautiful portraits of people. I don't know how he does it. It's remarkable. More than that, really. He's brilliant and kind of an idiot all at once, too. One minute he'll be quoting Nietzsche or da Vinci, and the next minute he can't figure out how to turn the telly on…"

* * *

He got back to the manor a little after midnight, quietly closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes to keep the polished wood floors from creaking more than they had to. It was dark and hushed and close. Stifling. Arthur felt suddenly like he was in an old gothic novel, arriving at the haunted mansion to investigate some weeping maiden's tale of woe. He shrugged it off. It was the just a house at night, no need to fear. There was the staircase he'd fallen down when he was six, and at the end of the hall was the library he'd locked Morgana in during a fight they'd had when he was ten.

Just the old house. Nothing to fear.

"Arthur."

He jumped. If he'd had a gun in his hand, he probably would have shot Uther, but he just had his keys and smart phone. "What?" Arthur said without turning.

"I take it your sister is staying at some hotel in town?"

"She is, yes. And no, she's not feeling the least bit repentant for dating Alvarr. She doesn't have a reason to be." Arthur shoved his keys and phone into his coat pockets and slowly undid the buttons before unwinding the scarf from around his neck. Keeping his hands occupied, giving himself some minor thing to do to help stay calm. "Morgana is a successful adult. She'll date whoever she chooses. She doesn't need your approval." He finally turned to look his father in the eye.

"Perhaps not. But I won't let that man soil this family's reputation." Uther took a sip of brandy from the snifter in his hand. His voice was even, his tone light. It sent a bit of a chill down Arthur's spine. Uther only used this voice when he'd decided that he'd made an enemy and was ready to do whatever it took to destroy said opponent. "Tell your sister that if she persists in this.. relationship," Uther spat the word out like it tasted rotten on his tongue, "that I will destroy his reputation, his career, or whatever else I need to do to keep him away from her. I've done it before. It won't trouble me to do it again. To  _anyone_  I find unworthy of the Pendragon name."

Arthur's heart fluttered. He kept his face still, though, locking his gaze with Uther's for the second it took to steady his voice. "I'll tell her that. I can't promise that she'll obey." He held himself quietly for another breath, then turned away and headed for the stairs, taking the utmost care to keep his steps even until his made it up to his bedroom.

He collapsed on his bed, fighting to keep his breathing even, keep his heart from racing while he tried to sort out if Uther had been talking about Alvarr alone, or if he'd somehow found out about Arthur. Or Merlin.

Perhaps there were some who would have dismissed Uther's threats against Alvarr as something a concerned father would say. Arthur had heard jokes from schoolmates' fathers about what they'd do to their daughters' boyfriends if they treated the girls wrong, but those had been empty threats. Jokes. But Uther didn't make jokes. Arthur didn't know if Uther even knew how to make a joke.

He'd been about sixteen when he found out what sorts of threats and blackmail had been sent Gorlois's way after Morgana was born. His marriage to Vivian had been on the rocks even before her infidelity, and he'd threatened to expose the affair. But Uther hadn't wanted such a disruption in his life. He'd hired private detectives to find all of Gorlois's dirty secrets, and promised to send it all to the papers in an exaggerated form. Sex, drugs, financial scandals. It wouldn't have mattered that most of it wasn't true. Once the press had a salacious story in its teeth, it refused to let go until every sordid detail saw daylight. Gorlois had backed off and kept his mouth shut, and nothing had come from his direction even after his death. And he'd been a man of means.

Merlin's family didn't have a lot. His mother was a nurse in Cardiff, his not-by-blood-Uncle Gaius had a small medical practice there, too. A humble little family, but tightly knit.

Uther would run roughshod over them in his quest to ruin Merlin if he ever found out about his relationship with Arthur. He'd destroy everything they'd built for themselves, drum them out of Cardiff- maybe even out of Wales itself to 'maintain the honor of the family'.

And if Merlin suffered from Depression to the point where he'd attempted suicide…

Arthur didn't know much about the disorder. He wasn't sure if a person recovered from it completely over time, or if the struggle lasted a lifetime. But if Merlin's mercurial moods were any indication, he was probably still fighting it.

" _I can't let Uther get anywhere near him. Not ever."_

His text alert sounded. The little chime was bright and happy in the darkness of the room, just like Merlin at his best. Arthur brushed an unexpected wetness from his eyes as he sat up to turn the bedside lamp on and pull the phone out of his pocket. A photo was waiting for him along with Merlin's text message.

' _Guess you didn't like the shower idea. If I'm not what u want 2nite, heres a hot pussy instd:'_

The picture was of Merlin's mother's cat sprawled out upside down on a hearth with a fire burning brightly behind it.

Arthur burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting a wary glance toward the door as though Uther was going to come in and demand to know what was going on. The door didn't open.

He controlled his mirth and hit the 'reply' button.

' _Sorry about the delay. Did like the shower idea, but got wrapped up talking to Morgana. She needed to talk some things out. Also, I don't want your mother's cat. I'm allergic, remember?'_

Arthur hit the 'send' button, and before he could think twice to stop himself, opened another text box to Merlin.

' _You're everything that I want. Don't ever forget that.'_


	5. Chapter 5

_  
_

_“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”_

-Maya Angelou

* * *

 

An uneasy Christmas came and went, along with Arthur's birthday. Morgana made an appearance at the manor, accepted Uther's requisite gift of cash, and went back to her rented guest house for the rest of the day. Arthur joined her there once it was clear that Uther wasn't going to emerge from his office. There was no sense in sitting around in a nearly empty house with his grim father holding court to no one when he could actually have fun spending time with Morgana.

He threw caution to the wind and took a bottle from the wine cellar- a lovely French vintage from the mid-nineties. If Uther ever missed it, it wouldn't be for ages, and Arthur figured the man could just suck it up and deal with its loss after he'd ruined Christmas for the rest of them. He and Morgana toasted their father's poor fortune for the new year before finishing the bottle off, along with the bottle of bourbon Morgana had slowly been drinking her way through over the weekend. They worked themselves into a wonderfully fuzzy drunkenness, then spent a few hours giggling over the animated films playing on the telly before falling asleep- Arthur on the couch, and Morgana on top of the blankets in her bedroom.

The sight of her the next morning, draped across the bed with her mouth hanging open and one hand tangled up in her hair, was almost worth the hangover he couldn't quite wash away in the shower. When he emerged fifteen minutes later with his head still aching, she was in a bleary state of semi-upright that was vastly improved once she regained her hand-eye coordination and her ability to do things like drink a glass of water and brush her hair.

While Morgana got ready for the day, Arthur spent an hour lazing about on the couch with a cup of coffee at hand and some toast he hadn't worked up the courage to eat. And reviewing his texts. He'd done a lot of drunk-texting, sending such jewels as  _'aHppy Christmbas1'_  to Merlin.

Merlin had texted back,  _"Enjyng the spirits of the hldays I c! Hpy xmas!"_ He'd sent a picture after that. A selfie of himself and his mother's cat glowering at the camera with a bright green bow on its head. As usual, Merlin had a thousand watt smile plastered across his face. Clearly his Christmas holiday had been truly cheerful. And likely filled with less drunkenness than Arthur's had been.

"That's adorable," Morgana said, suddenly appearing at his side. "Are you going to invite him to your birthday party?"

"I'm not supposed to know it's going to be happening. How can I invite someone to a birthday party I don't know about?" Arthur put the phone to sleep and jammed it into his pocket.

"There are a lot of coincidences in the world, Arthur. Just look at the way you met Merlin. You happened to see him in the park one night, and then a week later, there he was in the coffee shop. Coincidence!" She glared at him from over the rim of her mug, sipped her coffee, then winced. She hadn't put enough sugar in it apparently. Morgana was particular about the amount of sugar that went into her coffee. Arthur was sometimes tempted to ask, 'do you want some coffee with your sugar?'. "So maybe it's a coincidence that you happen to be in a restaurant with him, and suddenly a party breaks out around you. Easy fix, that. Glastonbury's not that big," she said.

"That's the problem," Arthur replied. "Glastonbury's not that big. What are the chances that Uther will show up in town and see me snogging some random bloke?"

"Merlin's not a random bloke." Morgana shot him a glare. "And you've got to stop worrying about what Uther says or thinks someday, Arthur. He's going to find out unless you intend to keep hiding until he's dead."

"That might be the best alternative," Arthur mumbled. He slouched against the couch cushions and rubbed his eyes.

"Arthur!" Morgana smacked him on the back of his head, rattling his teeth and setting his head to spinning again. "What the hell are you thinking? Are you really going to let our idiot father dictate how you're going to live your life? Are you seriously going to consider living in a miserable little hole until he finally shuffles off? Now that you've finally found someone who makes you happy, you're just going to let him slip away because you're afraid of what Uther will do?"

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" Arthur asked softly. He rubbed circles against his temples to try to make the pain in his head go away. "What will Uther do if he finds out?"

"What do you mean?"

Arthur sighed and threw a bleary glare at Morgana. He wanted to keep his eyes on her if she decided to hit him again. "After I got back to the manor on Friday night, Uther told me that if you kept dating Alvarr, he would do everything in his power to destroy Alvarr's career, his personal life, or whatever else he could get his hands on. For the good of the family." He sat up straight, giving the information a chance to sink in. "He's done it before, to Gorlois, and it wouldn't bother him to do it to anyone else he thinks would damage the Pendragon name."

Morgana sank into a chair, her expression thoughtful. Arthur let her think it all over. She'd come to the answer soon enough. She had always been better at social calculations than he was, ever since they were kids and she had ruled the schoolyard like a queen. "And you're afraid of what he'd do to Merlin if he found out."

"Yes. And not just to Merlin. To his family, too." Arthur picked up one of his forgotten slices of toast and brought it halfway to his mouth before realizing he didn't have the stomach for it. He set about picking it apart and tossing the crumbs back on the plate. "Merlin just has his mother. There's a family friend he's always called 'Uncle', but that's it. No siblings, no cousins, and his father died when Merlin was a little kid. They have… next to nothing, really. And it wouldn't bother Uther to take what little they do have. I can't let him do that to them."

"So you'd rather spend your life in hiding then?" Morgana sipped her coffee and narrowed her eyes at him. He tried not to flinch at that look. He hated that look. It meant that the gears were turning at fever pitch inside her head, and she was about to come up with some devastating counter-argument. He wasn't wrong. "What's that going to do to Merlin, hm? Is he going to accept this life you're planning out? This life where you're pretending to be the proper society man, and he doesn't get to meet your family or your friends, or go to social events with you? Do you think he's going to be alright with always being in the shadows? With always being your little secret? Maybe that was the kind of thing that had to happen a hundred years ago, but this is the twenty-first century. You don't have to do that now. Thinking that you do have to keep it all hidden because of what Uther says isn't fair, Arthur. It's not fair to Merlin, and it's certainly not fair to you."

Arthur waited out the tirade in silence, without trying to interrupt her. When Morgana got on a roll, it didn't do any good to try to stop her. "Are you done?"

"Not even close," she said, "but I doubt you're going to listen anyway."

"I do listen." He tossed the last bit of shredded toast onto the plate, then grabbed his dishes and stalked into the kitchen to put them in the sink. "But this isn't as simple as you seem to think it is. Merlin's…" He trailed off and bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed, or even if he should.

"Merlin's what?"

"I shouldn't say anything about it," Arthur said.

"About what?" Morgana climbed out of the cushy chair she was sitting in, edging past the couch until she was right in front of him. "What is it, Arthur? You've popped the lid. You might as well just open up that can of worms, because you know I'm going to get it out of you eventually."

"I don't even know if it's legal to tell you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Arthur! You didn't used to be like this, always worried about what people would think or do. You used to just go out and do it." Morgana raked a hand through her hair and flipped it over her shoulder. She caught Arthur in the face with it as she passed him by on her way into the kitchen. "I know the war messed with your head, but what happened to my 'devil may care' little brother?"

"He grew up."

There was the soft  _clank_  of ceramic against porcelain as Morgana set her coffee mug in the sink. Arthur didn't turn around to see what she was doing, but by the sound of her breathing, he could imagine the play of emotions across her face. He waited for her to decide what to do.

It felt like ages passed before she came up behind him wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back. "Growing up is one thing, Arthur, but the war did other things to you. And I don't like what those things were." Her grip on him tightened to a hug, and then she let him go. "Turn around and look at me." He did what he was told. "I'm starting to see that there are certain secrets I'm not going to get out of you, and other things you're not going to do just because I tell you to. So I'll let it go on two conditions."

"Two?"

"There are two issues at work here, so there are two conditions," Morgana said. She raised a finger to count them off. "One, you are going to have a nice long talk with Merlin about this whole thing with Uther's threats being why you want to keep your relationship with him a secret. And two, you're going to bring him over to my place for dinner one night, and if I find out that you haven't talked to him about all that, I will tell him myself, and you'll come out on the worse end of that deal."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will." Arthur gave her a crooked grin. "I'll talk to him about it, then. I was going to call him tonight to talk about picking him up in Cardiff. I don't see much of a reason to stay until Sunday."

"You're driving all the way to Cardiff just to give Merlin a ride home?" Morgana's lips spread into a wide, genuine smile. "That's so sweet. You really do like him."

"Yes, Morgana, I do like him. I thought I'd made that plain enough." Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat off the back of the couch. "Come on. If I buy you waffles will you stop interrogating me?"

"Only if they're really good. If they're lousy, I'm going to take your phone and start telling Merlin all sorts of embarrassing things about you." Morgana waggled her eyebrows at him as she went to get her coat and scarf out of the bedroom.

"I have a feeling you're going to do that to me whether the waffles are good or bad."

 

* * *

 

Gwen, Lance, and the others hadn't traveled all the way out to Glastonbury to celebrate Arthur's birthday, only to get kicked out of the pub at the early hour of ten-thirty, so when closing time came around they moved the party to Morgana's guest house. They might have gone to the manor, but Uther was still there, and Uther didn't like parties. Their friends liked Uther less than Uther liked parties.

It was probably for the best that not everyone was there. As it was, the eight of them filled the guesthouse nearly to overflowing. It was a good thing that most of them had booked hotel rooms nearby, because by the time everything started winding down around one a.m., only a few of them were sober enough to drive.

But they weren't too drunk to notice that Arthur had his phone in hand most of the night.

"Whatcha doin'?" Gwaine plopped onto the couch next to Arthur and planted his sock feet firmly on the coffee table.

"Texting," Arthur said as he shoved Gwaine's feet off the table. "And keep your dirty feet off the table. Don't you have any sense of hygiene?" He finished his message with a couple of quick taps and put the phone into sleep mode.

"Yeah, I can keep clean. My socks are clean, and so are my feet. What's the problem?" Gwaine put his feet back on the table and made a grab for Arthur's mobile. "Who've you been texting all night? Haven't had that out of your hand for more than a couple of minutes. Got a secret sweetheart somewhere? Or do you just miss Kay that much? He said he'd be in Aberdeen with his girl, though, so I doubt he's the one you've been talking to. Wouldn't want to give boring ol' you all his attention when he's got a pretty bird like Rose to keep company."

Gwaine flipped his hair out of his face. The slurring of his words was a bit deceptive. The man could hold his liquor like no one else Arthur had met before, and the act- if it was an act- was meant to ferret out whatever information he could get from Arthur. "Gareth doesn't remember he has a phone half the time, so it's prolly not him," Gwaine said, "and you're not really close enough with the others to be texting them as much as you have been tonight. So who is it?"

"My business is none of your business, Gwaine. If you're looking for gossip, you should probably talk to Morgana. She's the one with her finger on the pulse of British society." Arthur managed to resist checking his phone when it buzzed in his hand. Another incoming message, probably from Merlin, and while he wanted desperately to check it, he didn't want to look while Gwaine was sitting right there

"You gonna check that?" Gwaine grinned. "I can tell you want to."

"What does Arthur want to do?" Gwen squeezed into the space between him and the arm of the couch. She handed him a glass of water, and Arthur moved to shove the phone in his back pocket before he took it.

"Been texting someone all night, he has. Just got a new message, but he doesn't want us t' see what it's about."

"Aww, do you have a sweetheart, Arthur?" Gwen rested her head on Arthur's shoulder. "All those high society girls of London are going to be so disappointed. Don't you think, Morgana?"

The corners of Morgana's lips curved up in a knowing smile. Arthur shot her a warning look. "I think that's a given. There are going to be a lot of very disappointed young women."

"So you know who Arthur's mystery texter is, then?" Gwen asked Morgana. Lance sat down on the floor in front of her and rested his chin on her knee. She wound her fingers into his hair, and he, in turn, trailed his fingers up and down her calf. Arthur watched them for a moment, a spike of jealousy stabbing his heart. If Merlin were there, then maybe they could be wound together like that. If only…

If only.

"I know a name," Morgana said, "but I haven't met the person attached to the name, and since Arthur wants to keep things quiet for a while, I'm going to plead family loyalty and keep my mouth shut." Her eyes shined wickedly over the rim of the glass as she sipped her bourbon. Arthur chuckled. Of course Morgana would keep her promise to Arthur to keep quiet about Merlin while simultaneously aggravating all their friends while she was at it. She did love her games.

"And I suppose we're not going to get anything out of you, are we?" Lance hit Arthur's leg in protest. More of a tap than anything, but enough to tell him that Lance thought he was being a bit of an arse.

"Nope. A man's got to have some secrets, doesn't he?" Arthur suppressed a twitch when his phone buzzed again. Putting it in his pocket while the damned thing was on vibrate hadn't been the best idea.

Percival set a heavy hand on Arthur's head and ruffled his hair. "You're no fun. How're we supposed to torment you about this if you won't play along?"

"That's easy enough," Arthur said. "You're not going to torment me about it. I'm going to change the subject, and we're going to talk about something else. Or maybe you can draw something obscene on Leon's face since he couldn't be bothered to stay awake." He nodded toward Leon, who had fallen asleep with his back against the wall and somehow managed not to drop the bottle of beer dangling loosely in his fingers.

"Nah. He'd just wake up and hit the poor wanker with the pen upside the head, and then we'd be spending the rest of the night in casualty while one of us gets his face stitched up," Percival said. He winced as he lowered himself onto the floor, stretching his long legs out under the coffee table. "Though we should probably wake him up anyway and go back to our own rooms. I don't really want to sleep on the floor here."

"I think I'm okay in this chair," Elyan said. He squinted at Gwen, and his eyes didn't quite focus on her. "Do we really have to go back to the hotel?"

"Only if you want a ride back home," Gwen said. "We've got to be back in London tomorrow afternoon, so if you're not there when we leave, you'll have to catch a bus back. Unless Arthur or Morgana are feeling particularly generous."

"You'd leave me here? My own sister?" Elyan slumped further down into the chair and turned a pleading look on Lance. "Would you really let her do that?"

"Sorry, but yeah, I would," Lance laughed at Elyan's crestfallen expression. "I am the one who needs to be back, after all. Buck up. It's just a little way down the street. You'll survive it." He stood and picked his way around everyone's legs to retrieve their coats.

Gwen stood, too, stretched, and gathered all the cups and glasses that had been left on the coffee table and deposited them in the sink. "Come on, then," she held out her hands for Elyan to take and waited until her brother found his footing before she let go. Lance helped her into her coat. He tossed Elyan's over the younger man's head. "I suppose we're off, then. We might see you tomorrow, if you stay over here. Which you probably should do, because I don't think you're quite sober enough to drive."

"Not quite," Arthur admitted.

"We'll come around with some pastries or something in the morning, then. Maybe some coffee," Lance said.

"That would be lovely. Just be sure to do it before these lugs wake up," Morgana nudged Percival with her toes, "or they'll eat everything in sight." She stood and held her arms out to Gwen for a hug. "Thank you for coming. We'll have to get together again, just the two of us when I get back to town. I'll probably go back tomorrow night. I don't have much reason to stay here right now."

"Think I'll be able to ply you with champagne and get you to talk about Arthur's mystery texter?" Gwen laughed.

"Not a chance." Morgana winked at Arthur. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Oh, well. It was worth asking. We'll see you later, Arthur," Gwen said as she turned to give Arthur a hug. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you. All of you for coming all the way out here. It really wasn't necessary."

"Yes, it was." Lance clapped him on the shoulder before turning to guide Elyan toward the door. "We've got to keep trying to get you out of this little shell you've built around yourself since we all came home. Need to keep you from becoming a complete turtle. Besides. A birthday's always a good day, so happy birthday."

After that, there was a protracted series of 'Happy birthdays' and good-byes as the rest of them left in varying states of upright. Gwaine seemed to shake off his tipsiness in a hurry- if he'd been at all drunk to begin with- while Leon was weaving enough that Percival found it necessary to keep a hand on his shoulder lest he fall off the kerb and land face-first in the street.

When the door had finally closed behind everyone, Arthur pulled his phone out and collapsed back onto the couch. He thumbed through the lock screen to retrieve Merlin's messages, and smiled at what he found. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Merlin seemed to have forgiven Arthur for not inviting him to the party, if the messages were any indication.

"Is everything quiet on the Welsh front, then?" Morgana asked.

"Huh?"

"The Welsh front? Cardiff?" Morgana shook her head at Arthur's inability to catch her meaning. The alcohol hadn't helped his wits much. "With Merlin, I mean. You were smiling, so everything can't have gone too terribly." She gestured at the phone.

"Oh. That. No, I think we're okay," Arthur said. His thumb hovered over the phone's keypad while he tried to come up with some response.

"You sound so terribly sure of that," Morgana said. "I'll tell you what. I am going to take a quick shower, and then I'll listen to some music and go to bed. With the door closed. So you can call him. And you'd better call him, or I will get very cross. All right?"

"Yes, M'Lady." Arthur pretended to bow to her.

"I'm glad you're starting to figure that out. Where would you be without me, little brother?" Morgana rose to slightly unsteady feet and disappeared into the bedroom. The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

Arthur waited until he heard water running before he wandered into the kitchen and brought up Merlin's number, a fluttery feeling in his stomach as he tapped the buttons. It rang once, twice, then four times in all.

Merlin picked up just before it went to voicemail. " _Hey. How was your party?"_

"Good. It was good," Arthur said, his brain turning to mush at the sound of Merlin's voice. "Everyone just left for the night."

" _Yeah? Get anything good, or do you go in for gifts much?"_

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, they do gifts. Nothing much. Got a video game from Gwaine, a nice bottle of wine from Gwen and Lance. That sort of thing." Arthur set about re-stacking the cups in the sink, separating the plastic ones out so he could toss them in the recycling bin in the morning.

" _Did you have a good time?"_

"Yeah," Arthur half-smiled, "I suppose I did. I don't know if I managed to fake being surprised well enough to fool them. But maybe if I didn't, they'll stop trying to throw surprise parties for me. I don't actually like them all that much."

Merlin made a noise that might have been a laugh.  _"I'm surprised they did anything for you at all, given how you told me you don't even really care about your birthday."_

"Yeah, well, Gwen likes planning things. Especially parties. She plans something for everyone's birthday. It's something she's always done." Arthur lined up the cups in their stacks, making sure the out of date flower designs all faced the same direction. It appealed to his sense of order. "Gwen's about the happiest person I've ever met. I hate doing anything to upset her. I just-" he broke off and tossed a bit of rubbish into the bin. "I don't know. It's been a long few days. I want it all to be over with, you know."

" _Yeah,"_  Merlin said distractedly. Arthur imagined he had a pencil in hand and was drawing some sort of tiny masterpiece in his sketchbook.  _"Do you know what time you're going to be here tomorrow? Mum wants to know if she should make lunch for you or not."_

"Probably about two o' clock or so. No need for her to make something for me. I'll just grab food on the way," Arthur said. He stifled a yawn.

" _She'll probably make something for you anyway."_ Merlin said. _"She goes on these mad baking sprees during the holidays. Feels like she buys out the grocery store sometimes."_

"I'll look forward to it, then." Arthur drummed his fingers on the countertop, suddenly at a loss for words. He glanced around, looking for something else he could do or talk about, but nothing came to mind.

Merlin was silent, too, for a while. Then he took a noisy breath.  _"Arthur, it's, like, two a.m.. I was half asleep when you called and I'm, just… I'm tired. And you should go to bed, too, since you're going to be doing all this driving tomorrow. We can talk more when you get here, yeah?"_

"Yeah, I guess." Arthur said, suddenly unsure about everything regarding this conversation and the night's entire text exchange. Merlin was normally happy to talk at any hour, no matter the hour, and it was always Arthur who brought the conversation to a close. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. I'll give a call before I leave, so you'll have a better idea of when I'll get there. I'm not sure what time I'll be leaving. The guys were making noises about getting together for breakfast, and I've got to go back to the manor to pick up my stuff."

" _Okay,"_ Merlin said. There was a shuffling at the other end and a click. For a moment, Arthur thought that he had hung up, but Merlin spoke again.  _"Be careful tomorrow, alright? They said it might snow in the morning. Definitely a lot of fog. It's Wales, you know. It happens."_

"All right, then. I'll let you get to bed, then," Arthur said, "Bye."

" _G'bye."_

There was another click then. This one definitely ended the call. Arthur stared at the phone for a minute, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. He wandered back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, the phone still in his hand.  _'Maybe I shouldn't have called him? Just texted him goodnight? Not brought up the party at all?"_  It couldn't have felt good, to know that he was being excluded from Arthur's birthday party just because Arthur didn't want to give up a secret. And Merlin, with his history of Depression. Arthur's stomach twisted into knots.

' _I've been a proper idiot tonight, haven't I? Shouldn't make phone calls when I've been drinking. Never leads to anything good...'_

There were some noises from Morgana's room, and he waited for a while, wondering if she was going to come back out and yell at him or something, but the light under the door went out, and it was quiet.

Arthur reached over and turned the lamp off, then pulled the blanket over himself and waited for a long time for sleep to come.


	6. Chapter 6

_"To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.”_

\- Elizabeth Gilbert

* * *

 

Merlin's mother's house was a little place midway through a row of white houses in a non-descript neighborhood of Cardiff. Arthur felt a little out of place with his shiny black BMW and designer jeans, but the old man walking down the street with his bag of groceries hardly noticed him, so Arthur put his anxiety aside, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

There was a long enough pause that he considered ringing again. Maybe the bell was broken, or they hadn't heard it the first time. He had called Merlin before leaving Glastonbury, so they knew he was on his way. His finger was on the bell when he heard a muffled thump from inside, then a rattling of the latch, and the door opened to reveal a short-ish woman in her late forties or so, her mousy brown hair going to gray at the temples. For a moment, Arthur thought he had the wrong house, and then she smiled. It was Merlin's smile through and through. Apparently, he'd gotten it from his mother.

"Hello. Are you Arthur?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. Yes. I'm Arthur," he laughed- mostly at himself- and reached out to shake her hand. "Sorry. I had an early morning, haven't really talked to anyone yet today."

"Oh, I know how that is," Hunith returned his handshake with a firm one of her own before stepping to one side. "Come in, then, get out of this cold. We've had a bit of a dreadful morning weather-wise. All sorts of fog and then it rained. One of those nasty cold rains, and then it stopped and fogged over again. How was your drive? Did you get any snow on the way up?"

"Um, no. No snow, just a bit of fog outside of Glastonbury, but nothing terrible."

"Good, good. Let me take your coat. If I know Merlin, he'll have packed up, but he'll still take forever to get going. And sorry about the cat hair," she chuckled. "I vacuum every day and brush him out three times a week- the cat, that is, not Merlin- but it never seems to make a difference. It's so nice to meet you at last. Merlin's told us all about you," Hunith said as she led him out of the foyer and into the little living room.

Arthur was fairly certain it was only a little larger than his walk-in closet at the manor, clean, but stuffed nearly to the gills with a couch, a couple of chairs, an older television set, and Christmas tree recently stripped bare of its decorations. There were a few boxes on either side of it with clumps of tissue paper cradling sparkling or shining ornaments. Apparently, Hunith had been in the midst of putting them away when he'd rung the bell.

"Sorry about the mess," she said and turned a lamp off before grabbing a remote to turn down the music Arthur had only just noticed.

"I didn't notice," Arthur said, glancing around the room to see if there were piles of newspapers or falling down shelves he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was to do with the boxes of ornaments, the handful of pine needles littering the carpet, and the blanket haphazardly tossed over a chair arm. He seemed to recall Merlin saying something about his mother being super organized.

"And you're very polite. Oh! There they are." Hunith grabbed a pair of wire rimmed glasses resting on top of the television. "Merlin! Arthur's here!" she called up the stairs before half-turning toward a doorway that Arthur suspected led to the kitchen. "Gaius, I found your glasses. They were sitting on top of the telly."

"Oh, good!" a muffled voice came from the other room, followed by an older man in a worn tweed jacket and jeans, his shoulder-length white hair pulled back into a ponytail. "I was hoping they hadn't ended up in the rubbish bin or somesuch." He took the glasses from Hunith, put them on, and blinked up at Arthur. "Well, you're not Merlin."

"Uh, no. I'm Arthur. It's a pleasure to meet you." He stuck out his hand again, and Gaius shook it in a desultory fashion before stepping past Arthur to retrieve a book from the shelf.

"Is Merlin even up yet?" Gaius asked. "I haven't seen him."

"Yes, he's up. You're just late," Hunith said. "If you'd come when you said you were going to, you could have had breakfast with us. I made pancakes and everything."

"I told you I had a housecall this morning. Mr. Williams thought he had a problem with his insulin pump, but it was perfectly fine, as usual. He gets so paranoid about it now that Myfanwy's gone. But anyway." Gaius looked up at Arthur, giving him a once-over then nodded, apparently satisfied by what he saw. "How was your drive up from… Glastonbury, was it?"

"It was fine. Pretty clear, just a little fog, no snow or anything like that." Arthur stopped himself from fidgeting while he tried to decide if Merlin was taking his time in getting ready, or if he was trying to torment Arthur by making him wait around with his family.

"Good, good," Gaius repeated Hunith's answer from earlier. "It's supposed to be fairly clear for the rest of the day. No rain or snow, anyway, so you should have a good drive back to London. It was kind of you to offer to drive Merlin home. He doesn't really care for those long journeys by train. Not by himself, anyway. Will would have come with him, but his work wouldn't let him have the time off."

"Right," Arthur said, unsure of what to say next. Meeting Merlin's family wasn't going the way he'd expected. Not that he had known what to expect. He'd never had a significant other who was significant enough to have gone so far as to meet the family. "It was no trouble, really. I was happy to help." And glad for the chance to have Merlin all to himself for a few hours.

"Well, I'm glad he's found someone so thoughtful." Gaius lowered his voice and glanced back to where Hunith was closing up one of the ornament boxes. "I wasn't so pleased with the last fellow, but I suppose that's water under the bridge by now. Just don't mention him to Hunith."

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said, suddenly wondering who 'the last fellow' was, and what he had done to Merlin to warrant Hunith's disfavor. Had some disaster in that relationship caused the breakdown that gave Merlin the scars on his wrists? Was Arthur himself on that same sort of road that would end just like that relationship had? He took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm. There was nothing to panic about here, in this comfortable old living room.

"Arthur? Is that you?" Merlin's voice, floating down from the top of the stairs, felt like a sudden lifeline.

"Yeah, I just got here a couple of minutes ago." Arthur shuffled a few feet over to catch a glimpse of Merlin, but only saw his socked feet at first. "Just been talking to your mother and Gaius."

"Sorry." The feet rushed down the steps, revealing Merlin in baggy jeans and his ever present blue hoodie. "I was brushing my teeth. Figured I ought to finish that. Might look weird if I showed up foaming at the mouth. Want to come up for a bit? I've got to finish packing a few things." Whatever doubts Arthur had been harboring about their ominous 2 a.m. phone conversation melted away at the sight of Merlin's thousand-watt smile.

"Sure." Arthur glanced back at Hunith, but she just waved him up, and Gaius's attention had been sucked into the book in his hands.

Merlin hurried back up the stairs, holding a hand out behind himself for Arthur to take. When they reached the top, Merlin spun about and caught hold of the the back of Arthur's neck, drawing him close for a long, slow kiss. The tension he didn't know had been living in his shoulders melted away, flowing down his back and into his legs, making his knees wobbly.

"I missed that." Merlin smiled again when they broke apart. "Sorry again to leave you to my mum and Gaius. I didn't hear the bell ring."

"It's all right. They were nice. Just a bit on about the weather." Arthur followed Merlin into a little bedroom, a room hardly large enough for the bed and dresser it contained. He sank down onto the covers, avoiding clothes and the bits and pieces of everyday life that refused to fit nicely into a backpack. Framed drawings and photographs graced the walls, lined up just as neatly as the pill bottles on the nightstand. "Was this your room, then? Before you moved to London, I mean?"

Merlin glanced around and shrugged. "Yeah. We moved here when I was about ten. Mum couldn't take being in Ealdor anymore. Everything kept reminding her of Dad. Stayed with Gaius for a bit until she got back on her feet, and we've been here ever since. Not really an impressive place, not compared to your flat, even." Merlin folded a worn out T-shirt and tucked it into his backpack. "But it's home. Just have to keep the cat out of things."

"I haven't even seen the cat, as much as you tell me that it's always in the way." Arthur idly lined up the travel-sized containers of deodorant, soap, and toothpaste while Merlin wound the charging cables for his phone and computer into neat coils and tossed them on the bed.

"Yeah," Merlin shrugged, "Mum locked the poor thing in her bedroom. She didn't want her getting in the way of her baking, it being bad form to get cat hair in the cake batter." Merlin chuckled as he started tucking things away in his backpack. "Poor Aithusa yowled for a while and was pawing at the door, but she must have fallen asleep. Haven't heard her for a while."

"Oh." Arthur finished lining up the toiletries and folded his hands in his lap. He resisted the urge to pick at a loose thread on the blanket. "So, uh, are we…. are we alright, then? After last night, and our phone conversation. I guess that was this morning. I mean, you sounded upset about it, and I… I don't know. I guess I just want to make sure I didn't commit some sort of mortal sin or something, with you not being invited to the party and all."

"Yeah, we're good," Merlin said. He grabbed the last T-shirt from the closet and started to fold it, then paused mid-motion, bit his lip, and sighed. "I mean.. Yeah, I'm kinda mad about that, not being invited to your birthday to meet your sister and your friends. It was your birthday after all, and I'd just been saying how birthdays are important, and then you tell me that I shouldn't come, and…" He plopped down onto the bed with his back to Arthur, head bowed. "I guess I can see where you're coming from, if they don't know about you. Or me. Us. But… I don't know, Arthur. I want to be part of your life, but you're so set on us being this secret thing. It's not easy. Not for me."

"But you want us to work out, right? I mean, this… Us. Right?" A slow flush burned across Arthur's cheeks. He hoped that hadn't sounded as idiotic to Merlin as it had to his own ears.

Merlin twisted to look at Arthur, his eyes wide and startled. "Yes! Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" He finished folding the shirt with a quick, graceless motion and tossed it aside, then spun around to face Arthur. "Look. I'll admit that, yeah, I'm mad about the party and not being invited to it. I know you wanted me to be there, but your circumstances didn't allow it. I get it. I'm willing to work with you on this, though. But not forever. Some day, you are going to have to own up to who you are," Merlin said. "Are there going to be consequences? Yeah. There always are. But living with all these secrets is just going to eat you up inside."

"Yeah," Arthur said. He was tempted to blurt out the threats Uther had leveled against Morgana- and to Arthur in a more roundabout fashion- but that was a conversation that needed time and more privacy than Merlin's childhood bedroom could grant. "I'm sorry to do all this to you. You didn't ask for it."

Merlin gave him a crooked smile. "But I did ask for you." He leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "Now come on and help me get packed. If we take much longer, my Mum's going to think we're just up here snogging, and then she'll come up here to check on us, and that will open up its own can of worms. I don't want to deal with that."

"Okay. Here," Arthur reached for the messy stack of clothes, "let me help you out with this at least. I'm good at packing. All that military experience, you know." Merlin grinned and relented, and within a few minutes Arthur managed to fit all of Merlin's things into the backpack with room to spare before closing Merlin's laptop up in its case with all its cables arranged so they probably wouldn't get tangled. They clattered down the old wooden stairs to find Hunith waiting for them.

"I thought you were going to be up there all day. Did you remember everything, Merlin? All your computer cords? Clothes?" She fussed with the sleeve of Merlin's hoodie, picking a bit of cat hair off it.

"Yes, I have everything. And yes, I double checked under the bed and in the bathroom." Merlin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her brow. "I'm not completely hopeless."

"Yeah, well I still remember that phone call last autumn, when you'd left your mobile charger and your appointment book here, and I had to overnight them to you." Hunith's tone was stern, but the fond smile on her face took the sting from her words. "You remembered your meds, right? "

"They're right here." Merlin patted a side pocket on his pack. Arthur felt an odd twinge of jealousy at the sight of them, at their easy happiness, at Hunith's obvious concern for Merlin, and their openness with each other. There seemed to be no secrets in the Emrys household, and while that opened up the chance for endless teasing, neither of them seemed to mind it. Arthur tried to think of a time when Uther had been so affectionate, but failed. His own father had been born with a heart of stone.

"All right, then. As long as you're sure you have everything?"

"Yes, mother, I have everything." Merlin gently unwound himself from his mother's arms and handed his backpack of to Arthur. He pulled his coat out of the closet by the door, tugging at the hoodie's sleeves and hood until he had the fabric settled just so. With the buttons all done up, the coat served to emphasize Merlin's rake-thin frame. It made Arthur want to bustle him off to some bakery and stuff him full of cakes and bread to soften the sharp lines of his cheekbones, along with all the other bony parts of Merlin that Arthur was now aware of.

Apparently, Hunith felt the same way. "Hold on a minute before you go. I've got something for you. And talk to Gaius for a bit, too. He had to see to a patient this morning. It's why he wasn't here for breakfast," she said over her shoulder before disappearing back into the kitchen, returning less than a minute later with a foil-wrapped loaf of something and a bag heavy with baked goods. "Here. Take this with you, and don't eat it all on your way home," she said, handing the bag off to Arthur and the loaf to Merlin. "And I expect you to share!"

"Okay, okay!" Merlin laughed and wrapped his free arm around Hunith again. "Now where's Gaius so we can get going?"

"I don't know," she said. "He wandered off with a book again. You know how he is. He could be back in the garden or halfway home for all I know."

"I'm right here, Hunith," Gaius said from behind them, levering himself up and out of the chair he'd been quietly reading in. He slipped a bit of paper into his book and set it aside before coming back over to them. "Honestly, you make me sound completely daft sometimes."

"I just know how you are with books. You've always got your nose in one and your mind's off somewhere else entirely. I feel like I need to lock the door sometimes to keep you from wandering out of the house and getting run over." Hunith managed to look cross and amused all at once. Gaius just shook his head and rolled his eyes while a smile played about his lips. It felt to Arthur like they'd had this exchange a thousand times before, and probably would have it another thousand times before they were done.

"Alright, Mum, we've got to get going. Daylight's wasting and all that. Thank you for the bread and biscuits, and yes, I'll call when I get home." Merlin gave Hunith a kiss on the cheek before turning to hug Gaius.

"It was good to see you again, my boy." Gaius's smile was warm and his eyes shining as he returned Merlin's hug, then held the younger man by the shoulders to catch Merlin's eye. "You take care of yourself, all right?" There was more admonition in Gaius's voice than such a standard farewell warranted. Arthur had a feeling that a river of family experience flowed under those words.

"I will. I promise," Merlin said.

"I'll look after him, too. I've got to be good for something," Arthur said, offering Hunith a sheepish smile along with a silent promise to do just that, and give him every good thing Arthur had to offer, even if what Arthur had to give was far less than what Merlin deserved.

Hunith laughed. He liked that laugh. It was just as carefree as Merlin's was, when Merlin was happy. "All right, then," she said. "You two be careful. And be good!"

"We will," Merlin said, "on both accounts." He took his backpack back from Arthur and hefted it over his shoulder. Arthur kept hold of the computer bag. And the bread. "I'll call when I get home. I love you." Merlin gave his mother a last quick hug and offered the same to Gaius before they made it out the door and tossed his things in the car, waving a long good-bye as Arthur maneuvered the car out of its tight parking space.

"So that was your mother. And Gaius," Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who was watching his old neighborhood retreat in the side mirror. "I like them."

"Yeah, they're good people. Especially Mum." Merlin's smile turned sad. "With everything that's happened, and everything I've put her through, she just keeps smiling. I don't know how she does it."

Arthur couldn't think of a response, so he kept quiet, glancing away from the road long enough to take his hand and twine his fingers around Merlin's. He squeezed Arthur's hand in return, and they stayed like that, hand in hand, content, and quiet until they reached the outskirts of Cardiff.

"So other than being drunk, how was your Christmas? And birthday?"

"I dunno. Melodramatic?" Arthur let go of Merlin's hand long enough to steer the car around a particularly tight turn, then took hold of it again. "I was serious when I said Morgana tried to get disowned. I mean, not that she went out of her way or anything, but…". He shook his head, unsure of how to go about telling the story. "Let me start over. It's a little complicated."

"Okay," Merlin said hesitantly, turning his head away from the window to look at Arthur, "I ask you how Christmas went, and you say it's complicated."

"Yes, well, there's a thing I need to talk to you about anyway, and it's all wrapped up in this. I'm just not sure where to start," Arthur said.

"At the beginning?" Merlin threw him a skeptical glance. "I thought we were just talking about Christmas."

"Merlin, just… listen, all right?"

"Okay, okay," Merlin raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender. "From the beginning, then. Seriously."

"Right," Arthur sighed and squeezed Merlin's hand before letting go to grip the steering wheel better as they merged onto the motorway and the flow of traffic sped up. It gave him enough time to gather his thoughts and put them into some semblance of order, though whether it would make sense to Merlin, he didn't know. But he had to give it a shot; he'd made a promise to Morgana, after all, and she would hold him to it.  _'Here goes nothing…'_ "I don't know if you saw them at all, but some pictures of Morgana ended up on the front pages of a few different tabloids. They were those paparazzi-style photos of her out on a date with one of my father's rivals from parliament."

"Didn't see them. I don't really pay attention to the tabloids," Merlin said. He undid his seatbelt long enough to wiggle out of his coat and toss it into the backseat.

Arthur turned the heat down a little. "Well, someone tipped Uther off to it, and he accused Morgana of doing it to damage the family name and honour, said she was just dating Alvarr to bait him and build up a controversy so he'd look bad. Make Uther look bad, that is, not Alvarr. He told her Alvarr was only seeing her as part of a political ploy, et cetera, et cetera."

"Something tells me Morgana didn't take that well," Merlin said.

"No. Not at all." A faint grin tugged at Arthur's lips. Apparently he'd described Morgana better than he'd thought if Merlin could guess her actions without knowing either her or the whole story. "They got into a shouting match, she said he was part of a generation being left behind by progress and that he'd be laughed at by everyone in the future, and he called her mother a slut and threatened to disown her if she saw 'that pervert' again, the pervert being Alvarr, of course."

"Wait." Merlin looked confused. "Morgana's your half-sister, and you have the same dad. So why is he calling Morgana's mother a slut if he's just as guilty as she is?"

"Because my father is the king of the double standard."

"Okay. Men in power can be like that. And I guess people in general can be like that," Merlin said. "But why is Alvarr a pervert for dating Morgana?"

Arthur chuckled at that. "Not one for politics, are you?"

"Nope. Not unless there's an election coming up."

"Fair enough," Arthur said. "Alvarr's openly bisexual, and opposes my father on pretty much every issue, so I suppose it's even odds as to which part of that Uther hates more, his sexuality or his views. So with that in mind, when he saw Morgana and Alvarr together in the tabloids, he saw it as a personal attack. And then Morgana stormed out. Took me a while to find out where she'd gone, but I eventually did."

Merlin blinked and turned a wide-eyed look toward Arthur. "Bloody hell. Is this a normal Friday night at your place?"

Any other time, Arthur would have laughed at the look on Merlin's face, but the weight of it all- the threats, the secrets, and confessing it all to Merlin kept Arthur's mirth at bay. "No, not really. And it doesn't end there."

"This is starting to sound like a bad soap opera." Merlin sank down as far as his seat belt would allow and picked at a fraying spot on the end of his sleeve. "Go on, drop the other shoe. I get the feeling that I enter into it at some point, or you wouldn't be telling me all this."

"Yeah," Arthur sighed again, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, partly because of the thickening fog, and partly because this was the hard part of the conversation. "When I got back to the manor that night, Uther was waiting up. He wanted to know if Morgana was coming, too, and when I told him she wasn't, he told me to tell her that if she kept seeing Alvarr, that he would do everything he could to destroy Alvarr. He'd ruin his reputation, destroy his political career, blackmail him… He would do everything in his power to prevent anyone from besmirching the family honour."

Merlin's hands went still. He looked away, out toward the rolling countryside that lay beneath its shroud of fog, and was quiet for a terribly long time. "Jesus…. And he doesn't know about you. Or me. Are you saying he'd…"

"He'd do his best to rip your family to shreds in order to keep us apart, keep anyone from knowing or believing rumours about what I am, I…" Arthur's mouth went suddenly dry. He cleared his throat, and did his best to go on. "From other men, I might say that it's just a threat, you know. That he couldn't carry it out or that he wouldn't have the nerve to do it, but Uther's done it before. To Morgana's mother's husband, Gorlois."

"Why?"

"To keep his affair with Vivianne quiet," Arthur said. "Uther didn't want the scandal to be everywhere, so after Vivianne died, he shut Gorlois up until he dropped dead of a heart attack when Morgana was seven. Uther took her in when Gorlois's family wouldn't." He risked glancing away from the road to look at Merlin and try to judge how he was taking it all in. But Merlin had turned his head away and was staring out the passenger window. Arthur looked back at the road, and more than a few miles passed in silence.

He found himself staring at the motorway and falling into old habits as he searched the roadside for things that shouldn't have been there- a pile of rubbish that refused to blow away or a hastily patched pothole. Things that, in Afghanistan, would have signified something more than what they were- IEDs, triggers for ambushes, or a number of other catastrophes that were daily occurrences Over There, but happened so seldom in Britain that his vigilance seemed laughable.

And Arthur wanted to laugh it off and remind himself that a clump of ice was nothing more than that, but he was too keyed up to relax while waiting for Merlin's answer, waiting for him to tell Arthur that it was over between them, that Merlin didn't need the stress of Arthur's problems added to his own. He fought to keep his heart from racing, keep his hands from clamping down on the steering wheel, keep his breathing under control.

The silence between them stretched out for so long, and felt so laden with portent, that when Merlin finally did speak, it was only Arthur's military-honed reflexes that kept him from driving off the road in surprise at the sound. Merlin didn't seem to notice.

"I'm not afraid of your father," he said.

Arthur took a deep breath and willed his voice into steadiness. "Everyone else in Britain seems to be."

"Why?"

The question was so simple and so complex, and Arthur wasn't sure if he knew the answer, but one finally floated up and fell off his tongue before he could catch it. "Because Uther always gets what he wants. It's been that way since long before we came along."

"So that's it, then?" Merlin turned to look at Arthur again, his eyes stormy when Arthur risked a glance over. "You're just going to curl up and submit to his every demand? Live a lie because you'd rather not stand up to your own father? Fuck….Arthur…." Merlin blew an angry breath out through his nose. He turned away again to stare out the window, as though there were answers to be found out there among the rolling hills.

"What choice do I have? If I come out to him, then he'll do what he can to tear you apart, and your mother and Gaius, too. Merlin, I-" Arthur resisted the urge to slam his fist against the steering wheel out of sheer frustration. "I can't do that to you, or to them. I know this isn't fair, Merlin, and I shouldn't be asking it of you, but for now, at least, until I figure out how to go about telling him and everyone else. Please…?"

Arthur wanted to reach out and take Merlin's hand and reassure him that he meant well, but was too dense and too afraid to go boldly into the future, but Merlin had folded in on himself, slouched low in the seat, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His face, in profile, was a study of anger, thoughtfulness, and maybe a little disappointment if Arthur was reading it all right. "Merlin?" his voice almost cracked.

"Arthur don't- just…" Merlin sighed and relaxed in his seat, his shoulders sagging, his hands a nervous tangle of shaking fingers in his lap. "Let me think about this, all right?"

"Okay." Arthur forced his fingers to loosen on the steering wheel and swallowed back the nervous flutters rising from his stomach. Here was the turning point, then, and it was all up to Merlin. If he decided one way, Arthur would drop him off at his flat, convince himself to smile as he said good-bye, and likely never see him again. If Merlin chose the other option, then they would stay together, but remain in the shadows, unable to live openly until Arthur could summon enough bravery to be honest with himself and everyone around him.

Going to war had required less courage than that.

Merlin was silent for a long time, ignoring the tentative glances Arthur threw his way every five miles or so, folded in on himself like a work of worn out origami, his lips pressed into a thin line. He might have been asleep, for all Arthur knew, except for the occasional moment when he shifted in his seat, clutching himself more tightly before relaxing again or tapping his fingers against his knee until Arthur thought he would wear a hole in the denim.

A dozen or more times, Arthur thought about speaking up, asking Merlin what he was thinking- or not thinking- but every time, he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. He was asking a lot of Merlin right now. He could at least give him the time to think it all through, let Merlin make his own choice without Arthur breathing down his neck.

It was a long half an hour.

"Okay," Merlin said at last.

"Okay?" Arthur's head snapped around to look at him. "Okay, what? What do you mean by 'okay'? Are we…" He shut his mouth and swallowed back the rest of the incoherent words that threatened to spill out.

"Okay, as in, yeah, we're okay. I'll go along with this. We'll keep this quiet until you're ready to tell everyone." Merlin sighed and stretched his legs out as far as he could. "I don't like it, this hiding, but I want  _us_  to work out more than I dislike the secrecy, so I guess that if this is what we have to do, then that's how it is."

Arthur blinked back the moisture in his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

Merlin turned his head to look at him. He looked immeasurably tired, but the sparkle was back in his eyes. "Yeah, I'd do that for you."

A near-hysterical giggle tumbled out of Arthur. It was more than what he'd expected and far more than he deserved. "Thank you," he said. "I'll try to sort this out, figure out a way to tell my father about all this without him freaking out too much. Lance and Gwen and the others, they'll understand, and Morgana already knows, of course. I think she's always known about me, and I've told her about you." Arthur paused for a breath and realized he was babbling. Relief always did strange things to his tongue. "Sorry, I'll shut up now."

"It's okay." Merlin smiled and rested a hand on Arthur's knee, sliding it slowly up his thigh until his fingers brushed Arthur's crotch before retreating.

Arthur shivered and bit his lip, doing his best to focus on driving and not keeping track of all the interesting sorts of scenarios that appeared in his imagination, most of them involving a private place to pull off the motorway so he could find out two things- just how comfortable the back seat might be, and how flexible Merlin was.

He took a deep breath. "I am driving," he said firmly, both to keep Merlin's wandering hands from causing further distractions, and to remind himself of his responsibilities.

Merlin grinned. "I know. Just keeping your mind open to the possibilities. For later."

"You are a wicked man, you know that?" Merlin just laughed. Arthur bit his lip and shook his head, and spent the rest of the journey to London resisting the urge to push the pedal to the floor and find out how quickly they could make it back.

 

* * *

 

They had to park a few blocks away from Merlin's building. Foot traffic around the place wasn't heavy, and for once Arthur felt calm, like he didn't have eyes on him watching his every move. It probably had something do with Merlin chattering on like the whole first part of the drive hadn't happened at all. Like everything was perfectly fine.

Merlin's roommate, Will, a man Arthur had hardly met except for a brief few times when he'd picked Merlin up on the way to dinner, was getting ready to head out when he buzzed the two of them in. He ruffled Merlin's hair in greeting. "How's your mum, then?"

Merlin batted Will's hand away, a sheepish smile on his face. "She's good. Still baking like mad. Sent a few dozen chocolate biscuits home with me. They're on the kitchen table if you want a couple. A couple, mind you, not a couple dozen."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You weren't gonna eat them, and they weren't going to eat themselves, you know," Will said, his reference to the earlier, unexplained biscuit-eating matter a subtle reminder to Arthur that Merlin had been Will's best friend long before he had been Arthur's boyfriend. Whatever he'd done to earn Will's ire, Arthur wasn't sure, but he'd only ever gotten sour looks from the man. "I'll be out 'til nine or so. You gonna be around when I get back?"

"Yeah. Gotta be up early tomorrow to hang that show for January," Merlin said.

"Right." Will shrugged into his coat and nodded in Arthur's direction. "What about him?"

"I'll probably head home before that. I've got stuff to do early, too," Arthur said. He didn't want to leave, but if it kept the peace with Will and thus made things easier on Merlin, then he'd make that little sacrifice.

"Right," Will hardly acknowledged Arthur as he grabbed his wallet and mobile and headed out the door. He was just shy of slamming it shut.

"Sorry about him," Merlin said. "It's just that I haven't always had the best history with guys, and he gets a bit resentful when I bring someone new home. It's not you, it's him."

Arthur chuckled at the lame joke. "Good to know. Oh," the mention of previous men reminded Arthur of something Gaius had said earlier. "Is there something I should know to avoid about 'the last fellow'? Gaius mentioned something about not talking about him around your mum…" He winced. Maybe it wasn't a topic he should have brought up.

"Oh, Matthew. Yeah. Him." Merlin's rueful smile quickly faded away. "It was pretty serious there for a while with us. Thought we might make a life of it together, and then he up and left one day without a word. Saw him a couple of days later snogging some bright young thing in the West End." Merlin pulled a few things out of his backpack and tossed them into a drawer. "Twenty-five years old, I was, and I'd been thrown over for a younger woman. Not a phrase I thought would ever apply to me. Hadn't been with anyone else until you."

"Sorry to bring it up." Arthur held Merlin's computer bag out to him as a lame peace offering for having reminded him of a rotten situation.

"He came, he went, and I got over it after a while. And no, he wasn't responsible for this," Merlin waved a hand to indicate the scars on his wrists. He took the bag from Arthur and held out a hand to him. "And anyway. If I were still with him, I wouldn't have met you, and I like you a lot more than I liked him. Come here." Merlin held a hand out to Arthur.

"Why?"

"You're pretty daft sometimes, you know that?" Merlin stepped forward a pace to catch Arthur's wrist and gently urged him down the narrow hallway to his bedroom. "We've got the place to ourselves for hours." Merlin dropped his bag onto the floor beside the door and tangled his fingers into Arthur's hair, drawing him close for a long, hungry kiss that only broke off when they ran out of breath. "Are you honestly going to tell me you don't want to finish what I started in the car?"

"Oh. That." Arthur caught his breath. "Yeah, I could do with some more of that." He reached a hand up Merlin's shirt, fingertips brushing along ribs until Merlin gasped and shivered. Then he tugged at the hoodie and shirt both, awkwardly pulling them up until Merlin yanked both over his head, urging Arthur on until they collapsed on the bed together. Their laughter turned to heated breaths as more clothing ended up on the floor, and lips discovered new pleasure points to explore. Their bodies provided territory both well-known and strange, each inch requiring careful study until it was as familiar as breathing, their borders and boundaries blurring together until they may as well have been one.

 

* * *

 

Later, perhaps years later, Arthur wasn't sure how much time had passed. He only knew that it was dark outside, and that one of them had turned on a lamp to see the other better. Merlin was curled up on his side, facing Arthur and hovering at the edge of sleep. Arthur propped himself up on an elbow, carefully, so he wouldn't disturb Merlin and just looked at him, taking in all the long lines of bone and muscle, the tousled mess of his hair, and down to the careless drape of the blanket over his hip. In the soft light, even the shadows under his eyes were made beautiful and all his scars- from the fleck of white on his cheekbone, the puckered line under a collarbone, and even the trails up his wrists- blended into the surrounding skin like they were nothing more than an artist's mark on a canvas, brushstrokes left unedited to prove the artifice of man.

Arthur reached out to trace the lines of Merlin's face, then hesitated, unwilling even to wake him. He wondered who gave Merlin those other scars, tried to fathom who could be so heartless as to try to destroy such beauty. It was a crime worse than taking a knife to the virgin in Merlin's beloved da Vinci painting in the museum, for whoever had done it had taken a blade to human flesh and attempted to cut a soul free from its cage of bones.

Merlin stirred. His eyes fluttered open. Arthur didn't bother to move his hand away or pretend he hadn't been staring. Merlin's smile was sweet and sated. He took hold of Arthur's hand, kissed his fingers, and folded them into his own. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," Arthur replied, chuckling at the simple greeting.

"What time 's it?"

Arthur twisted around to look at the clock on the nightstand. "About seven-thirty," he sighed, "I should probably get going."

"Why?" Merlin's fingers tightened around Arthur's.

"Because Will is going to be back soon, and we both have to get up early tomorrow. Besides. You're already half-asleep, and I don't want to bother you," Arthur said.

"I don't mind being bothered," Merlin said, his eyes glinting with lust.

"And I don't want to give Will more reason to loathe me." Arthur pulled Merlin's hand to his lips and kissed the long fingers, one by one.

"What, you're afraid of him walking in to find me sucking on your cock?"

Arthur laughed, but couldn't keep  _that_  mental image from springing into his mind. "Something like that. How about you come over tomorrow night? We can have that bottle of wine, and you can have free run of the shower."

"And do whatever I want to you?" Merlin freed his hand from Arthur's, his fingertips trailing from Arthur's throat and down to his waist before traveling somewhat lower.

"I won't say no to that." Arthur shivered. His resolve wavered, and suddenly it didn't seem so terrible if Will did come home to find them in such a state.

"All right, then. Off you go." Merlin withdrew his hand and flipped the blankets off Arthur. The sudden chills running down his back had nothing to do with desire. Merlin's old flat didn't have the best heating in London.

"You are cruel to me sometimes." Arthur leveled a not-so-angry glare at Merlin before rolling to his feet to search for his clothes. He found his trousers and straightened to tug them on.

"Stop," Merlin said.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just want to look at you in the light," he said, his eyes traveling the length of Arthur's body, not with a lustful look, but with the gaze of an artist in search of the perfect subject. "I am going to paint you someday."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yeah," Merlin smiled, "it is."

His breath caught, and Arthur was glad the lamplight was so soft. It would hide the flush spreading across his face. No one had ever paid him such a brilliant compliment before. "I- I'll look forward to it."

Merlin's grin broadened, flashing like a sunbeam on a dreary day. "I will, too. Here," he tossed Arthur's shirt across the bed and grabbed a pair of his own sweatpants and a t-shirt. "Get dressed, then. I'll walk you to the door."

They shared a lingering good-night kiss before they left the flat, only just touching as they walked down the three flights of creaking stairs, doing their best not to make too much racket. Merlin held the door open for him and leaned against the jamb when Arthur stepped outside.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Merlin said, "Around six?"

"Yeah. I'll pick up dinner on the way home. Just text me and let me know what you want, okay?"

"Okay. Good night, then." Merlin said, his smile sweet, but a little sad, too.

"Good night," Arthur said. His steps were slow as he walked down the stone stairs to the street and looked back one last time. Merlin was watching him go, wreathed in warm light but still surrounded by the cold blues of the London night.


	7. Chapter 7

" _And love's the noblest frailty of the mind."_

_-_ John Dryden

* * *

 

January passed. There was little else that Arthur could say for it.

He spent a quiet New Year's Eve at Morgana's house where they toasted her late, great relationship with Alvarr. She had ended it the day before after careful thought, having decided that irritating Uther wasn't worth the trouble of his unleashing the metaphorical hounds of hell on Alvarr because of a few dates. She had admitted that she wasn't all that into him, anyway. His charms weren't so strong that she was about to forsake all others for him. Not that it meant the end of their troubles where the paparazzi was concerned, but it was a start. They'd deal with the rest of it as it came.

So Arthur brought a bottle of wine and some Chinese takeaway and endured Morgana's choice of sappy chick flicks instead of heading to some party for New Year's. He'd wanted Merlin to be there with them, but Merlin had to attend some glittering gala hosted by one of the high end galleries where he worked. He kept the half-siblings apprised of the goings-on via text, though, maintaining a running a commentary about the Very Important People in attendance, giving each one of them some bizarre pseudonym like 'Lobster-Head' or 'Googlyman'. Between Merlin's comments and their own jokes about the movies, Morgana and Arthur managed to spend most of the night giggling.

If only they had stayed awake long enough for him to read Merlin's text an hour after midnight, then they would have been able to see Merlin in all his hired-tuxedo glory. But they weren't, and Arthur didn't get the message,  _'Done w/ sparkleparty! Stll dressd up & nowhere 2go. Cn I join U? Meet Morgana, 2?" _until he'd made it home the next day and charged the phone.

He sent a reply as soon as he saw the text.  _'Sorry I didn't get to see you last night. We fell asleep on the couch before you texted about coming over. Saw it just now after I charged the phone.'_

A long, unsettling few hours passed before Merlin answered, and Arthur hated to admit to himself that he'd pounced on the phone when the poor thing chimed.

' _Srry. Feel lk shit. musta ben smthg I ate. Ben asleep.'_

Arthur's offers of assistance were brushed aside. Will was there, after all. There was no need to bother, no need to go out in the lousy weather, even though Arthur would have been happy to bother, would have walked from his flat to Merlin's in an ice storm just to make him feel better and make sure that Merlin was alright.

But Arthur's sensible side overrode his desire to swoop to the rescue, and he convinced himself not to play the part of the fretful mother hen. Merlin would recover faster if he didn't feel like he had to entertain and reassure a nervous boyfriend. And indeed, a few days later, Merlin showed up on Arthur's doorstep looking a bit thinner and a bit paler, but with a smile on his face, a bag of pastries in hand, and a long kiss for Arthur once the front door clicked shut.

Sex wasn't an option that night. Nor was a lingering hot shower. It didn't take a doctor to see how worn out Merlin was, even after doing nothing more than curling up in a blanket on the couch and catching up on the latest episode of the Pendragon family soap opera, minus the paparazzi problem Arthur wasn't sure how to address. He was half-asleep when Arthur returned from the kitchen with fresh tea for him, but struggled upright for the sake of oolong.

"Is something wrong, Arthur?" Merlin asked as he wrapped both hands around the mug. "You've had that look on your face that says something's bothering you. You may as well spill it."

"There are a lot of things wrong, and most of them have to do with my family. Not that there's much I can do about that." Arthur plopped into the chair closest to the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"What about the things that don't have to do with your family?"

"Yeah, about that." Arthur sighed and melted into his chair while trying to ignore the trepidation blooming in Merlin's eyes. "So you know Morgana broke it off with Alvarr, and that the gossip rags are starting to cool it. A little. Maybe. But sometimes they just back off to see if you're going to try to do something stupid while their backs are turned, so they're still following her, and because it's sexy or whatever to try to take politicians down a notch, they've started following me and my father around, as well."

"They have?" Merlin glanced toward the window, as though expecting to see a giant lens peering through the closed curtains.

"Yeah, a little. They try to look like tourists and the like, but you can spot them if you know what you're looking for." If there was something his hypervigilance was good for, it was that. He'd spotted one woman that afternoon with a too-long lens staring overlong at a map of London. If she'd moved around a bit and looked up and down the streets like a lost tourist would have, he might have missed her. But Arthur had been trained to look for IEDs amongst bits of rubbish and had learned to scan passersby for signs of a suicide bomber. When life and death were on the line, you learned fast, and you learned well. The woman photographer hadn't stood any more of a chance of going undetected than her male counterpart did later on, when Arthur had stopped at a Tesco for a few groceries after work.

"What are you going to do? Should I not have come over tonight?" Merlin's eyes widened, and for a moment Arthur was tempted to tell him how ridiculously cute he looked, wrapped up in a blanket with his hair sticking up.

"No, you're fine," he said instead. "It's nothing we haven't been through before. You just have to lay low for a while and be really, really boring."

One of Merlin's eyebrows quirked up. "You? Boring?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Arthur said. "But yes, boring. I mean, there's nothing sexy about buying groceries, nothing controversial about the sandwich and coffee I bought for lunch today. Eventually, they'll lose interest and stop following us around. Or some other scandal will come along, and they'll forget all about us."

Merlin's shoulders drooped when he realized the implications of what Arthur was saying. "But in the meantime, we can't really go out, can we? Just the two of us. I mean, it's one thing for a couple of blokes to see some action flick together. A bit different if it's just the two of them off to dinner at some fancy place, yeah?" Merlin stared down at the tea mug in his hands like he was looking for the non-existent tea leaves to give him some glimpse of the future.

"Yeah, that's how it is." Arthur's own gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry. I know you hate the secrecy and all, but…"

"You don't want to end up in the papers," Merlin said. "I can see my way to that. And no, I don't like keeping secrets, but I guess I signed up for this." He reached over and set his mug on the coffee table then lay back down with his head resting on the arm of the couch. He let out a long breath and closed his eyes. "Can we start the year over? This one has kind of sucked so far."

"Kind of, yeah," Arthur said. He looked back up at Merlin, but the other man's eyes stayed shut, and he was still save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "You know I'm not doing this on purpose, all this with the paparazzi, I mean. I'm not trying to sabotage what we have."

Merlin's brow knit. There was a growing storm in his eyes when he met Arthur's, but it dissipated when he saw whatever pathetic expression was on Arthur's face. "I know you're not. I just- I hate the world sometimes. When people just can't let you be, you know?" He pushed himself back upright and rubbed his eyes. "Like it's anyone's business but your own who you're fucking, as long as it's consenting adults, right? But no, we've got to have this notion of 'normal', and anyone who's not right on that line is a deviant, and they've got to drag all the salacious details out in the the open so they can cluck about how kinky and messed up we are, even if they secretly want the same sorts of kinks for themselves. Everyone's screwed up somehow, aren't they? Even if they won't admit it." Merlin let his head loll back against the couch until he was staring up at the ceiling.

Arthur snapped his mouth shut and fidgeted, desperately trying to come up with something to say after all that. "So, uh, tell me how you really feel?"

"Tired. Frustrated." Merlin tilted his head to give Arthur a sloe-eyed glance. "Like I want to fuck you senseless, except I don't have the energy for it." His sly smile faded and he reached a hand out to Arthur. "Come here. Food poisoning isn't catching, and if we have to cool it for a few weeks, then I want whatever bits of you I can get 'till then."

"Sounds reasonable." Arthur grinned and pushed himself out of his chair, crossing the distance between them with a single step and wound himself around Merlin so that he, not the couch arm, served as a pillow. He had to smile as Merlin snuggled against him, letting out a puppy-dog sigh as he wrapped his fingers around Arthur's and brought them to his lips for a kiss. "Comfortable, then?"

"Yeah." Merlin looked up at him and smiled sleepily. "We've switched places since the last time we were on this couch."

"A little bit," Arthur laughed. "At least I know how to run the remote."

Merlin snorted. "That thing belongs on the bridge of the  _Enterprise_. Go on, then. I think  _Wanted_ 's showing on One at some point."

"Sounds good. I always liked James McAvoy." Arthur felt more than heard Merlin's answering chuckle before his breathing evened out and his hand went lax in Arthur's. "Couldn't even wait until it started to fall asleep, could you?" He gave the sleeping man a fond smile and reached for the remote, flipping the telly on and turning the volume down before searching through the channels for something less riddled with gunfire than a tale about super-assassins. He settled on a banal period piece, figuring that it would put him to sleep soon enough. And it did, the human drama playing out on the television before them being somehow less disturbing than the darkling dreams that haunted either one of them.

* * *

 

Just over three weeks passed before Arthur was satisfied that the photographers had left him and Morgana alone. Maybe they were still after his father, but he couldn't bring himself to care what Uther thought of the paparazzi. Not after spending most of a month being completely boring, completing days of mind-numbing routine, and too-brief clandestine meetings with Merlin in semi-public places. The photographers couldn't very well follow him into Waterstones or the National Gallery, and so he was free to meet Merlin there, but only as a friend might. He couldn't hold Merlin in the middle of a bookshop, couldn't try to kiss away the deepening shadows under Merlin's eyes. And he certainly could not bring Merlin home with him. Not when there was at least one photographer staking out his house, setting Arthur's nerves on fire with paranoia, and sparking two panic attacks he had to fight through alone.

Well, not quite alone. He'd managed to call Merlin the second time, and the sound of his voice had helped calm Arthur down enough that he didn't feel like passing out.

But aside from phone calls, raunchy text conversations, and a handful of platonic meetings, Merlin's presence in Arthur's life had been reduced to an insubstantial thing, a shadow glimpsed out of the corner of an eye that disappeared when viewed directly.

He hated it. After years alone, it had taken a handful weeks for Merlin to worm his way into Arthur's heart, and now Arthur couldn't imagine life without him.

But those three weeks weren't without their bright spots. Morgana commiserated with him and planned a fancy, three-person dinner party for the end of the month. And he had other friends, of course. Lance and Gwen and the others heard he was trying to keep a low profile so they came over a few times, bringing pizza and questions about Arthur's still-mysterious-to-them paramour. He accepted the pizza and declined to give them any more clues. He just… wasn't ready for that.

_"We'll get that name out of you someday, Arthur,"_ Gwen had said. _"You can't keep it secret forever"._

He just smiled in response, knowing full well that she was right and that one of these days he would have to come clean. But not yet. He left them with the mystery.

Then finally -  _finally-_ the paparazzi nuts got tired of watching him buy sandwiches and coffee, and then a footballer's wife wrapped her car around a tree. The dialogue of gossip turned from sexual orientation and dating to the perils of drugs and alcohol, and Arthur could finally breathe again.

Merlin must have felt the same way when he showed up at Arthur's door on the chosen Saturday night. Except for the part where Arthur was breathing, if Merlin's too-tight hug was any indication. Not that Arthur minded. He was bloody  _thrilled_  to have Merlin back, and have things return to normal. But he did need air. "Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"You gonna let me breathe now?"

"No." Merlin laughed, but he loosened his grip on Arthur enough that he could cup Merlin's face in his hands and take a long, wonderful look at him.

"You look tired. Have you been sleeping?" Arthur asked.

"Three and a half weeks since I've been able to touch you, and that's the first thing you say? 'Have you been sleeping?'" Merlin barked a laugh and melted against him. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist and breathed in his scent- soap and cologne, and  _Merlin_. "God, Arthur. You sound like my mother".

Arthur chuckled, happy that there was at least a little bit of amusement in Merlin's voice. "Sorry. I suppose that's part of the show. You know. Come for the sex, stay for the paranoia".

"That's a lousy fucking pun".

"You'll have to pay extra for a better sense of humor," Arthur said. "Come on. I'll take your stuff". Merlin relinquished his ever-present backpack and the bag of bread and pastries he'd volunteered to bring for dinner.

"Is Morgana here yet?"

"No. She texted about twenty minutes ago to tell me she'd be late. Some crisis or another with her hair. I'm not surprised. If it wasn't her hair, it'd be-" Arthur stopped short. Merlin had taken his coat off, revealing a pair of black skinny jeans so tight that he must have painted them on, and a deep blue shirt that made him look even paler and more fragile. Conservative wags would say Merlin was flaunting himself.

Arthur's body certainly approved, even if his brain hadn't quite caught up. "Uhm…" He cleared his throat. "Are you trying to impress me or Morgana?"

Merlin shrugged, his expression going bland. "Neither. It was the bloke at the bookshop. You know the type. A hipster with the big sunglasses and an even bigger beard. He even had a ridiculous hat on. But alas!" Merlin put a hand to his forehead like a fainting girl from some 1950s melodrama. "He was too busy being ironic to notice me. I guess I'll have to settle for you."

"Oh. I'm the one you'll settle for. Tell me something, Merlin, does Mr. Beardy Man have a wondrous shower waiting for you upstairs?" Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin's waist and ushered him into the kitchen.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm dirty, then?"

"Absolutely. If my sister weren't on her way over, I'd tell you to march upstairs and get in the shower this instant," Arthur said, blatantly looking Merlin up and down and up again, his lips curling into a sly smile.

"What, with my clothes on and everything?"

"Definitely leave the clothes on," Arthur said. He pulled Merlin close and kissed him on the cheek before brushing the tip of his tongue along Merlin's jaw and up to his ear. "Good things come to those who wait".

Merlin shivered. He tilted Arthur's head up to kiss him full on the lips, refusing to break it until they were both out of breath. "Sometimes good things just come," he whispered.

Arthur grinned and moved in for another kiss.

And, of course, the doorbell rang.

"Dammit, Morgana," Arthur growled. "You have the worst timing."

Merlin chuckled as he pulled away from Arthur's grasp. "Probably for the best. The pasta's going to be overcooked if we're not careful." He grabbed a wooden spoon and started poking at the orecchiette in its pot on the stove. "Besides. Would you really want your sister to walk in on us screwing on the kitchen floor?"

"It'd serve her right," Arthur grumped. Merlin just smiled and shooed him out of the kitchen.

Morgana looked like a kid on Christmas morning when she opened the door. Like a proper child would be, that is, not the way she had actually looked during the Pendragon Christmas Fiasco a month ago. "Is he here?" she asked as she handed her overnight bag to Arthur and stepped across the threshold, peering over his shoulder as though Merlin might be hiding behind him.

Arthur scowled at the bag in his hand. Morgana always had a way of overpacking, even if it was just for a night. There was probably a week's worth of clothes in there. Just in case. "Yes, he's here. He's in the kitchen, making sure I don't overcook the pasta."

"Why do you have him doing drudge work, Arthur? He's your boyfriend, not your servant." She swatted his arm and handed over her other bag. It contained a bottle of wine and some kind of dessert, if he wasn't mistaken.

"He volunteered to look after the pasta. I'm well aware of who he is, Morgana. I don't need you to remind me." Arthur rolled his eyes and dropped the overnight bag on the couch. He waved off her attempts to foist her coat off on him. "Stop that. You know where the closet is. Go put it away yourself."

"Yes, I know where the closet is. At least I'm not  _in_  it, unlike some little brothers I have," she said airily as she put her coat away.

"I'm not getting into this with you, Morgana. Not tonight. Did you mistake my flat for a fine restaurant?" Arthur asked, trying to change the subject.

Morgana glanced down at the little black dress and dangerous shoes she was wearing, and shrugged. "I've been bored the last few weeks. Being boring is boring, and I do  _not_  like being boring, even if I am just coming over for dinner and drinks. You know that. Besides. If you're still this besotted, I want to make a good first impression on my possible future brother-in-law." She flashed him a ten-thousand watt smile as she took the wine-and-dessert bag back and sauntered into the kitchen.

"This is going to be an interesting night," Arthur muttered as he hurried to catch up before Morgana had a chance to completely humiliate him in front of Merlin.

They were just shaking hands when Arthur walked through the door, appraising each other with the sort of eye that their professions had granted them- Merlin appraising her with an artist's gaze, Morgana judging him like she would any one of her opponents in court. Arthur found himself holding his breath unnecessarily, because whatever each of them saw in the other, they gave each other genuine smiles, finishing off their introductions with the obligatory ' _It's nice to meet you at last_ '.

So far, so good.

Morgana turned back to the bag she'd brought. "I ordered a cake from this place on Ebury Street," she reached into the bag and glanced up at Merlin. "I hope you like chocolate?"

She didn't notice how Arthur flushed at that, or see him catch Merlin's gaze over her head. Nor did she see the sparkle in Merlin's eye.

Tonight was definitely going to be interesting.

* * *

 

"I think I've made a terrible mistake," Merlin said.

"Oh? And why is that?" Morgana said, giving him a sly look over the rim of her wine glass.

Merlin folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them, giving her his best puppy-dog look. It made Arthur want to take him in his arms, usher him upstairs, and curl up in bed with him. Merlin sighed. "I should have known better than to try to play Monopoly against a stockbroker and a lawyer. Couldn't we have played a nice game of Pictionary, instead? I'd have stood a chance at that."

"You would've mopped the floor with us at that," Arthur said. "Besides. You need at least four people for Pictionary, and there are only three of us."

"Here, then. Take my money and run. I'm out". Merlin reached across the board and set his meager stack of play cash between the siblings. He buried the lower half of his face in his arms, but if the crinkling around his eyes was any sign, he was still smiling.

"Going to watch us fight to the death over Park Lane and Mayfair, then?" Morgana asked.

"And miss the ultimate sibling rivalry? Nope. I'm going to stay right here," Merlin said. The crinkles around his eyes deepened. He slipped one arm off the table and rested his hand on Arthur's knee.

Morgana didn't miss the motion, but she didn't say anything about it. Her lips twitched upward in a barely suppressed smile. "All right, then, little brother. Roll the dice. You've got one chance to make it past all my lovely hotels. If you can't, then even Merlin's generous forfeiture of his funds won't help you."

Arthur took up the dice and shook them in both hands. "Just watch me, Morgana. I'm a lucky man. I think my streak will hold". He needed a seven or better to make it through the cluster of hotels and houses set up on Morgana's properties.

He rolled two threes.

Merlin's hand tightened on his knee as Arthur lowered his head to the table. Morgana cackled. "How many times do you have to lose to me before you realize that I'm better at this than you are?" she asked.

"I win half the time. Maybe more," Arthur said. He gathered up his Monopoly money and placed it, stack by perfectly ordered stack, back into the little tray in the box. He could add as well as the next man, and he had nowhere near enough cash to pay for all the hotels and houses on Morgana's properties.

"Oh? And when was the last time that happened?" Morgana asked.

"The last time we played this, as a matter of fact," Arthur said. "Last summer. At Glastonbury."

Morgana made a sour face and downed the last of her wine. "We're going to have to start going back there for Friday dinners, you know. We can't plead off because of the weather forever."

"That's true," Arthur's expression matched Morgana's. He plopped the folded-up game board back into the box a little harder than he intended to.

Merlin sat up straighter, resting his chin in one hand and spinning his wine glass around in the other. He'd only drunk about half of it. Arthur wondered if it was because of the medications, or if Merlin just didn't like the vintage. "Why do you both keep going back there if you hate it so much?" Merlin asked.

Morgana opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Her eyebrows came together in a thoughtful expression. She took a breath to try again, paused, then finally managed a few words. "I- I don't know."

"It's just something we've always done. Ever since we moved out, anyway," Arthur said. "Go out there on Friday and come back to London on Saturday. It's just… It's what we do."

Merlin looked at each of them in turn, gauging their moods and trying to figure out what to say next. The background music Arthur had turned suddenly seemed too loud.

"Okay," Merlin said at last. "Stop me if it seems like I'm butting in where I shouldn't. It's not like I'm part of the family, but… Morgana, you broke up with the guy you were dating because your father didn't approve. Arthur won't even mention me to him, because that would be the end of the world, yeah? And you've both spent the last three weeks in hiding because your actions might reflect badly on Uther. Right?"

"I guess that's true," Arthur said sheepishly.

"And, despite the fact that you've both admitted that you kind of hate going out to Glastonbury every Friday night, you both go anyway," Merlin said. "From what Arthur says, you don't do the 'normal' sort of family stuff, either. You just sit and listen to him complain, right?" They both nodded, giving each other sidelong looks. "So why do you keep going? What's he going to do to you if you stop?"

"I hadn't really thought about it." Morgana brushed her hair away from her face. Arthur thought he saw her fingers trembling. "Maybe we should stop. Wean ourselves away and get him out of our lives? What's the worst that could happen?"

Arthur gave her a nervous smile that faded as quickly as it began. "I don't know. England would fall?" His attempt at a joke fell flat.

"Well, if you need to talk to someone about it, I know some people," Merlin said.

"Do you have a list of people for everything?" Arthur tried to keep his voice light, though he knew where Merlin was going with this. The notion that Uther was an abusive man had crossed his mind more than once. He just… hadn't done anything about it. It was habit by now, to keep his nose down when Uther's temper rose.

But why would Merlin know about abuse counsellors?

"I know a lot of people," Merlin said. "Not that you've taken my advice about them before". He flashed Arthur an irate look, and Arthur had the good sense to look abashed. He had promised to look into counselling for his panic attacks, after all, and still hadn't done it. "Anyway," Merlin said, "my flatmate, Will, works for a group that helps people get out of abusive relationships. Kids and women, mostly, but it can happen to anyone. And that's what Will does. Helps get them out of those situations. So he knows people, too, if you want to talk about it with someone. Sometime."

"I, uh, I might keep that in mind," Morgana said, forcing a smile onto her face. "For my clients. Just in case."

"Yeah." Merlin fidgeted with his wine glass for a moment, then set it down and spread his hands flat against the table. "And now that I've sucked all the joy from the room, I'm gonna go use the loo. I'll be back."

Arthur watched him go, waiting until Merlin had disappeared up the stairs before he turned back to Morgana. "Well. That wasn't how I was expecting that conversation to go. Morgana?"

She was staring off into space, but shook her head and blinked at the sound of her name. "Sorry. I was just thinking. He's not far off the mark, is he?"

"I suppose not."

"I mean, you see all these other people wrecking their lives by going back and doing the same stupid shit over and over again, and you think they're idiots for doing it. But it's a different story altogether when you're the idiot doing the stupid shit, isn't it?" Morgana brought her wineglass to her lips and tried to take a drink, glaring at it when she realized it was empty.

"More?" Arthur asked?

"Yeah. I'm already too drunk to drive home. Might as well enjoy the buzz while I can."

Arthur smirked and started to pour another glass for himself, then stopped. "Have you noticed that every time we get together, we end up getting drunk?"

Morgana stopped with the glass halfway to her mouth. "Now that you mention it, yes." She sighed and put it down. "We're both idiots."

"I'm starting to think so, too."

She half-smiled and look back toward the stairs. "He's wonderful, isn't he?"

"He certainly is," Arthur said softly. "He puts up with my stupidity, anyway. He's good at that. It's like he can see right through people sometimes."

"I have to applaud your taste in men, Arthur," Morgana said. "Perhaps _his_  taste is a bit lacking, but I'm willing to overlook that." She dodged his attempt to ruffle her hair at the comment, grinning as she batted his hand away. Her smile didn't last long. "He's one of the good ones. Hang on to him. Treat him right."

"I do my best. Sometimes… I wonder if I'm completely failing him," Arthur said. He looked down at his hands. "But the next day, he comes round again and he seems happy, and I think maybe I didn't screw up after all. Honestly, though, I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time."

"Neither do I, on those rare occasions I do manage to find someone I like," Morgana said. She braced her elbows against the table and put her chin in her hands. "Love is hard. That's what makes it worth it, though. If it were so easy, we would all be happy, wouldn't we?"

"Probably. Though, I think people like Uther would still find ways to make themselves miserable," Arthur said. He reached over and gave Morgana a one-armed hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. "Perhaps you should go my route and find yourself a nice woman to settle down with."

Morgana laughed. "A pretty blonde with nice legs and good taste in clothes, then? Shall I just go over to Piccadilly and snag one coming out of a theater, then?"

"Sure, why not? You wouldn't have to go far for dinner and a movie." Arthur said. "And you might have a chance to figure out what she's thinking, you being a woman and all."

"No, I wouldn't. I don't understand the women I already know. Except for Gwen, but I've known her for ages," Morgana said.

"Well. Maybe Merlin can fix you up with someone," Arthur said. "He already seems to know someone who can help with everything else."

"What do I know?" Merlin asked as he slipped back into his seat. He'd come down the stairs without their noticing. There was a sheen of moisture on his eyelashes and in his hair, like he'd splashed water over his face.

"Anyone and everyone," Arthur said. He squeezed Merlin's hand. "Think you could find a girl for Morgana?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow and gave her a speculative look. "I'm sure I could find someone. You're not so bad looking." He smiled when she scrunched her nose up at him. "Photographers would be all over you. Definitely photographers. I wouldn't mind painting you, either, though. But I didn't know you were into girls…?"

Morgana ducked her head and blushed. "I'm not, really. Arthur was just joking that I should try finding a girlfriend, since none of the boyfriends I've ever had has lasted very long."

"I'm sure I might know a few people either way, Morgana. But you should know for sure what you want. No one likes being toyed with," Merlin said.

Arthur couldn't help but wonder if he was talking about their relationship, or if Merlin was remembering the previous disaster with Matthew or whoever that had been. The wan smile Merlin gave him was hardly reassuring. He suddenly looked so tired.

"It really was just a lame joke, Merlin. Not that I'd turn a woman down if I fell head over heels for her, but I don't think I'm set up that way," Morgana said. "If you happen to find a good man who likes girls, I wouldn't mind if you sent him in my direction."

Merlin chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"All right, then," Morgana said as she got to her feet. "Who wants more cake?" She didn't miss the amused look Merlin shot Arthur, nor did the faint blush on her half-brother's cheeks go unnoticed. "One of these days, I am going to find out why you find the notion of chocolate cake so embarrassing, Arthur. Really. You'd think I was asking you about your sex life or something."

"Who says you aren't?" Merlin asked innocently.

Morgana stopped dead in her tracks and spun on a heel. "Oh, this I  _have_ to know. Right now. We're not doing anything else until I hear all about it."

* * *

 

Arthur survived the embarrassment of the chocolate cake story, mostly because in Merlin's retelling of it, Merlin himself became the butt of the joke for trying to bake a cake, half-naked and in the dark at three in the morning. The kiss was the important part of his narrative, and he glossed over everything that came after. Because really, the cake had had nothing to do with the bedroom.

The conversation wandered off after that, and it kept wandering until they were all yawning and just this side of coherent. After that, they stumbled upstairs, with Morgana heading to the guest room, and Arthur and Merlin to Arthur's room, with nothing more physical on their minds than curling up together and going straight to sleep.

Arthur woke up later because Merlin wasn't there. Or maybe it was the confusing dream that did it. He wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake, but he knew with the dreamstate certainty, that a bomb had gone off in his flat and he was going to open his eyes to a disaster area, and that if he stumbled out of the bedroom he would find Merlin and Morgana in a bloody heap at the bottom of the stairs.

The rational part of his brain knew everything was fine. There were no bombs here. London was safe from sorts of destruction that had become too familiar in Kandahar. If he opened his eyes, everything would be fine.

And yet, some part of him was convinced that tragedy had befallen him. A case of Schrödinger's disaster that was real and not real, and wouldn't pick a side until Arthur worked up the courage to open his eyes.

' _Quit being an idiot, Arthur Pendragon'._

He took a breath and opened his eyes.

Everything was fine. The clock on the nightstand still sat crookedly, Merlin's backpack slouched against the wall, and their clothes were piled in an ungraceful heap in the middle of the floor. There were no sirens, no screams, no smoke in the air. If he got up and walked down the hall, he would find Morgana sleeping peacefully in the guest room.

But Merlin wasn't there.

Arthur flipped the covers off and rolled to his feet. He grabbed a t-shirt to ward away the night's chill and padded out of the room. He found Merlin downstairs, huddled on the couch with a sketchbook and pencil in hand. The page was blank. Merlin just stared off into the distance, as still and as beautiful as if he'd been caught between moments of time.

"Merlin?" Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and destroyed the illusion.

He jumped and looked up at Arthur, his eyes unreadable in the darkness. "Hey. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you".

"You didn't," Arthur said. "My dreams do that well enough. May I?" He gestured toward the empty spot next to Merlin, who nodded and shifted so Arthur could sit. "Everything all right?"

Merlin shrugged. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, so I figured I'd try to draw for a bit. That didn't work. My mind, it just… It won't slow down. Keep having the same stupid stuff spinning about, and if it would just go away…" He shook his head and tossed the pencil and sketchbook away. Their crashing on the coffee table sounded like a small explosion against the quiet. "Did I say something completely, unforgivably stupid tonight?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur traced a finger along Merlin's shoulder, but instead of calming him, the gesture only seemed to wind Merlin up further.

"It's just… We were having a perfectly good time losing at Monopoly, and then I go off on a tangent of 'your father seems abusive. You should talk to someone about it. I know a guy'. Like I have any sort of right to just up and tell you about your family's problems, you know? I'd known Morgana for all of three hours, and…" Merlin licked his lips. "I feel like I just messed everything up somehow".

"No, you didn't mess anything up. You just pointed out something we've been trying hard to ignore all these years," Arthur said. He sagged against the couch. "Uther is exactly the kind of monster you think he is, and Morgana and I have responded by wrapping ourselves up in knots trying to please him and slowly becoming alcoholics in the process. Maybe what you said tonight is the push we needed to start changing that".

Merlin was silent. Arthur let him be, gave him the space he needed to calm the storm of thoughts that plagued his dreams. The quiet lasted for a long minute, then Merlin took a shuddering breath and curled up against Arthur, shivering. Arthur wrapped his arm around him, wishing he could drive away whatever demons were haunting him.

"You wouldn't leave me, would you?" Merlin whispered.

"No," Arthur said without thinking about it. "No, I wouldn't".


	8. Chapter 8

_A human being is only breath and shadow._

-Sophocles

* * *

 

' _Hi, Honey! I'm home!'_

Arthur had to restrain himself from shouting the ridiculous phrase as he walked through the door and let it fall shut hard enough to rattle the frame. He winced, and a sheepish smile flashed across his face as he tossed his suit coat over the back of the couch. Then he stopped and realized what he was doing. Smiling.

Arthur Pendragon was genuinely smiling.

Not grimacing, not smirking, not stretching his lips into something resembling a pleasant expression, but smiling. Because he was happy.

It was a strange sort of feeling, happiness. He wasn't sure he remembered when he had last felt this way. When he was a kid, perhaps, back in school when the pressure to be perfect had been a dark cloud on the horizon and the worst injury he could imagine was a scraped knee or broken arm. Life had been so much simpler back then, and while he might wish for the same kind of simplicity to come back, he didn't want the childhood to return. There were too many benefits to being an adult to really want the old days back. He had his own space, his own career, and could- tactfully- turn down Uther's demands for him to show up every time Uther snapped his fingers.

It was springtime, and Arthur didn't go to Glastonbury every Friday anymore. He didn't try to drink his problems away. He had started seeing a psychiatrist. And he had Merlin.

To be exact, he had Merlin upstairs, if the quiet of the living room and kitchen was any sign. Merlin's backpack sat in one of the dining room chairs. His sketchpad lay open on the table, the vague outline of a human figure stretched out across the page, a handful of pencils stood out against the polished oak tabletop. Arthur rescued a wayward pencil from the edge, gathering the rest of them so they would be close at hand whenever Merlin decided to finish the drawing.

Merlin hadn't moved in. There was always some logical reason for it- he didn't want to leave Will in the lurch, didn't want to disrupt Arthur's life any more than he already had, didn't want to cause Arthur problems if Uther or any of his friends came over, because Arthur  _still_  hadn't told anyone else that he was gay. Merlin didn't want to say or do the wrong thing and disrupt the progress Arthur had made in his two whole months of therapy. And there was the logical, 'it's the end of March, Arthur, we've only known each other for four months. Isn't it a little early to be discussing lifelong arrangements?' argument that Merlin always won.

He was entirely too good at arguing. Or maybe Arthur was just too inclined to give Merlin whatever he wanted. It was a good thing that Merlin really didn't want very much. Or if he did want more than he let on, he was quiet about those desires. A key to Arthur's flat had been the major thing, and that had taken two weeks for Arthur to suss out.

There had only been three things that Merlin outright said that he wanted- for Arthur to see a psychiatrist (check), for Arthur to be happy (check), and for Arthur to tell the truth about who he was.

Two out of three was definitely progress, given that two months ago he couldn't even claim one of those goals. The third would take time and courage, though his psychiatrist was pressing Arthur to just come out of the closet already. Not that bluntly, of course, but he wasn't so much of an idiot that he couldn't take a hint.

He had intended to tell Gwen and Lance one night at the beginning of March. He'd made dinner reservations for four at his favorite restaurant in SoHo and told the couple he had something important to tell them. He'd had it all planned out. Lance and Gwen would arrive early, because that was what they did, while Arthur and Merlin would arrive a little late, and the whole speech Arthur had spent a week planning would be unnecessary because Gwen and Lance would figure it all out once they saw Merlin, and that would be that.

Then Lance's work schedule had intervened, shrinking the pair to one. And when Arthur had picked Merlin up from the gallery that afternoon, he had found a bleary, half-feverish boyfriend waiting for him and taken him straight home, tucking Merlin into bed with a glass of water and a package of cold meds on the nightstand. Thus their foursome had been reduced to a mismatched twosome.

Somewhere between their second glass of wine and dessert, after an hour and more of chitchat about work and films and holiday plans, Gwen had finally asked the question. "What's the big news, then, Arthur?"

And Arthur had opened his mouth, looked into her big brown eyes, and lost all confidence in himself. If Merlin had been there, Arthur could have accomplished anything, but without him, Arthur felt like a blithering idiot. "I've, uh, finally started seeing a psychiatrist," he'd said, instead of,  _'I'm gay, Gwen, and I have a brilliant, beautiful boyfriend I'm falling head over heels in love with.'_

Her eyebrows had risen to her hairline, the expectant light had died in her eyes, and she'd replied, "Oh. And how's that going?"

He remembered giving her some stuttering response along the lines of 'It's going well, and I'm feeling better these days', and the conversation dragged along like it had been tied to a rusty old anchor until the waiter returned with the dessert menu and he and Gwen had finally found the rhythm of the conversation and went on like the previous ten minutes hadn't been so awkward.

Three weeks later, he couldn't look back on that night without feeling like he had disappointed everyone, Merlin included, even though he hadn't told anyone what the plan had been in the first place. He kept telling himself there was time to build up his courage again, to find the right words, and just fucking tell everyone already.

If only he wasn't such a bloody coward about the whole business.

Arthur sighed, wishing he could find his smile again as he opened the blinds and let the golden afternoon light come into the kitchen. Merlin's mobile sat on the counter next to an uneaten apple. The message alert light was flashing, probably from the unanswered text Arthur had sent before he left work:  _'Want to order in pizza tonight?'_

"Merlin?" he called out to the air. It wasn't often that Merlin had a full Friday off, and Arthur had promised him he would stay home on Saturday, and they would have the weekend together, just to themselves. When he had left that morning, Merlin had still been asleep, and Arthur's attempts at a lunchtime text conversation had resulted in a paltry number of replies. If the empty water glass by the sink, the uneaten apple, and the lack of crumbs on the counter were any sign, Merlin had spent the day in bed.

Arthur wasn't sure if he should be worried or cheered up by that. Merlin had been getting a lot more sleep of late, but Arthur had- probably foolishly- pulled up a few medical websites and discovered that both chronic insomnia and the sleeping problems caused by Depression would come and go. He couldn't tell from looking at Merlin where one stopped and the other started, and Merlin would only answer Arthur's questions of  _'how are you'_  with a consistent  _'I'm fine'._ Half the time, Arthur convinced himself that Merlin really was fine, and that he was dreaming up problems that didn't exist. The other half, he was dead certain that nothing was alright, and that one of these days he was going to get a frantic call from a hospital telling him that Merlin was dying. Or already dead.

He headed out of the kitchen and paused at the foot of the stairs. "Merlin?" he called again. An uneasy flutter unsettled his stomach as the silence stretched out. He didn't run up the stairs, but it wasn't an easygoing pace, either. His imagination filled up with horrid scenes of crimson-spattered showers and Merlin, white-faced and bleeding out while Arthur pleaded for the ambulance to hurry up and get there already.

He was almost running when he hit the bedroom door. It slammed back against the wall and bounced, nearly striking him on its return. He stopped by the bed, heart thudding, letting out a shuddering sigh of relief at the sleepy-eyed scowl Merlin gave him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Arthur half-collapsed onto the edge of the bed and brushed a shaking hand over his eyes and through his hair. "Nothing," he said again. "I'm just overreacting. Again."

"Are you alright?" Merlin's hand slipped out from under the covers to trace slow circles over Arthur's back.

"Yeah. Will be," Arthur said. He went through one of the stupid breathing exercises the psychiatrist had given him. He'd been leery of them at first, convinced that nothing so simple could work, but lo and behold they did. Maybe they weren't so stupid after all. His heart and stomach finally settled back into their proper places instead of vying for positions in his throat. "How are you? Did you eat anything today?"

"Slept a lot," Merlin said. "Still feel tired. Thought about getting up to eat, but I just wasn't that hungry." He melted down against the pillows, his gaze falling away from Arthur's. A couple of days' worth of stubble littered his jaw. It might have been sexy if it weren't for the forlorn look in Merlin's eyes as he stared at the wall.

"You've got to be hungry, then, if you haven't eaten all day." Arthur tried to inject a bit of levity into his tone. "What say we go get a shower and then order in some pizza? I texted you about that, but you left your mobile downstairs. It's hard to get an answer if you're not around for the question."

"I s'pose that's true. PIzza's fine. Order whatever you want". Merlin yawned and rubbed his eyes, looking unaccountably adorable in the process. He tugged at the blankets and swatted at Arthur when they wouldn't budge. "Move, then," he said. "I can't get up while you're keeping me prisoner in here."

Arthur caught Merlin's hand and kissed the narrow fingers. "I can think of a few things we could do while you're trapped in my bed. Might be a bit R18, though. We should probably close the blinds all the way, turn off all the phones, lock the doors. That sort of thing. Think you can handle it?"

Merlin freed his hand and flicked Arthur's ear. "Don't worry about me. I can handle you any day." He gave Arthur a sloe-eyed look, his fingers brushing along Arthur's jaw and down his throat to grab his tie. He wrapped the red silk around his fingers and gave it a sharp tug- to the side and away from the bed. "But I want a shower first. I smell."

"Fine, then." Arthur reclaimed his tie and stood up so Merlin could flip the blankets away from himself. He was a little disappointed to find that Merlin was wearing clothes- boxers and an old t-shirt of Arthur's that should have been consigned to the bin ages ago. It was too big for Merlin's wiry frame, and worn out enough that it had become tantalizingly see-through.

Strange, how the sight of a skinny bloke in raggedy old clothes was a bigger turn-on than the shirtless men on the covers of those health and fitness magazines. But then, attraction and lust didn't always work like they did in the movies, and the things society viewed as flaws turned to marks of character and beauty when viewed with love's eyes.

_Love?_

The notion stole the air from Arthur's lungs and knocked him off his feet. He flopped onto the bed, his head hitting the pillow where Merlin had just been. His gaze settled on the partially closed bathroom door Merlin had disappeared behind. He took in a deep breath. Merlin's scent still clung to the fabric, better than any fine cologne.

 _Was_  he in love with Merlin? And if he was, was it the madly-deeply sort of happily-ever-after kind of fairytale love? Was this a borderline obsessive, long-term infatuation that kept going on and on because puppy-love was a great feeling, and Arthur liked feeling good for once?

Did he even know what love was supposed to be? It wasn't like he had ever had the chance to open himself up to another and risk ending up with a broken heart. But here he was, his first time trying out the notions of relationships and romance and flirting with the idea of love.

What was love, anyway? Arthur knew it wasn't the syrupy thing that Hollywood sold, and if Uther had loved his wife he had never spoken of it or betrayed any kind of affection when he spoke of her. Morgana wasn't a great example, either, with her string of short-term boyfriends and holiday flings. Perhaps she was just as confused about the whole thing as Arthur was.

Lance and Gwen were probably the best example that he or anyone could come across, with their puppy-dog gazes across distances long and short, and their willingness to do anything or give up whatever was necessary to make the other happy. And laughter never seemed to be far away from one if the other was near.

If that was love, then Arthur had a long way to go. But he was willing to keep stumbling toward it, making whatever sacrifices he needed to to make sure Merlin was healthy and happy, even though it would require finding every bit of courage that he could possibly find in order to tell everyone the truth. But it would be worth it. Merlin was worth it.

' _I love you.'_ He let the words tumble about in his head, mouthing them silently to see how they felt on his lips.

They felt good. Better than good. They were brilliant and wonderful and exciting and every other superlative he could think of, though they all seemed to fall just a little bit short somehow.

A movement by the bathroom door caught Arthur's eye. The old t-shirt fell into a heap on the floor, followed by the boxers Merlin had been wearing. He caught his breath as Merlin peered out at him. "Well? You coming?"

Arthur bit his lip, rolled to his feet, and reached up to unknot his tie. He grinned. "Not yet."

 

* * *

 

It was the  _tap, tap, tap_  that caught Arthur's attention as he maneuvered through the front door with two cups of tea in hand. The tapping came again, the source revealing itself to be Merlin, tapping two fingers hard against an unopened pack of cigarettes. Arthur could have sworn that the last pack he had seen had been half-full, but he might have mis-remembered. He'd never seen Merlin smoke any more than the one per day he'd claimed when they first met. Maybe he smoked more when Arthur wasn't around, but he wasn't about to bring it up.

Merlin didn't seem to have noticed Arthur's arrival as he stared out at the purple sky. He shifted and stretched, unconsciously graceful as he shoved the wrapper into jeans pocket before fishing his lighter out.

The flash of light stopped Arthur in his tracks. He remembered how the same scene had caught his eye in Hyde Park last autumn, bringing Merlin into his life on just such a night.

"You're a wonder, Merlin," Arthur said softly as he sat down on the top step next to him. "You know that, don't you?"

Merlin shrugged as he took the cup Arthur offered, bringing the cigarette to his lips with the other hand. The glowing embers sent sparks of light across his eyes. He breathed in. "If you say so," he said, a stream of smoke flowing out of his mouth to merge with the fog.

"I mean it," Arthur said. "I don't know where I'd be now if it wasn't for you. Somewhere pretty miserable, I'm sure. So thank you for knocking some sense into me." He trailed his hand along Merlin's thigh, down to his knee where he left it. Merlin looked down, his half-closed eyes unreadable, his expression guarded. Then he sighed, his hand reaching out to cover Arthur's, fingers folding lightly around his, like Merlin was afraid he was some kind of bird that would fly away if gripped too tightly.

Merlin was shaking. Trembling, really, a faint motion Arthur hadn't noticed until Merlin's hand closed around his and he put his tea aside to take the cigarette away from his lips. The built up ash crumbled and fell, drifting just far enough to land on Merlin's sleeve. Arthur tried to brush it away but only managed to smear it instead, making smudges of gray on black like he was a first year art student playing at drawing for the first time. "Sorry," Arthur said. "I'll put it into the wash tomorrow."

"It's alright," Merlin whispered. He held the cigarette loosely between two fingers, watching it burn away. Arthur let him ruminate. If Merlin wanted to say something, he would, and any inane question Arthur had to ask would be met with a flat response- ' _It's fine', 'I'm fine', 'Everything's fine'._ Merlin would keep saying it forever, as though saying it would make it happen. Like he could just tap his heels together three times, say the magic words, and everything really would turn out alright.

But there wasn't a good witch nearby to help them out. Just Arthur, an ordinary sort of bloke with his own mental baggage dragging behind him.  _'God, I hope I'm enough.'_

The cigarette burned out. Merlin tapped it against the step to clear away the last embers before setting it down by his feet. "It's late," he said.

"Yeah. Probably about one," Arthur said. "Do you want to go in?"

"Sure," Merlin said, though he didn't move until Arthur urged him to, slowly standing up like gravity had increased ten times over. He offered Arthur a vague smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Then he was past Arthur and through the door, trudging his way up the stairs to the bedroom.

Arthur watched him go, waited for him to make it up there before stepping into the kitchen to dump the remnants of his tea down the sink. His own hands were shaking now, and it took two tries to set the mug down on the counter without chipping it. He sank against the wall and let himself slide down until he was sitting, elbows braced against his knees, head buried in his hands. He took a long breath and listened to the clock  _ticktickticking_ , the drip of water in the sink, and the soft thudding of Merlin's footsteps in the bedroom above. Then it was quiet, and it took every bit of focus Arthur had not to fall into an outright panic attack on the spot.

Merlin was cracking. Not in the 'men in white coats are coming to take you away' sort of crazy, but the 'hide all the sharp objects' kind, where Arthur wondered if he should take the next day or week or month off work to keep an eye on Merlin. But maybe that was the absolute wrong thing to do. Maybe that would set Merlin off even more, drive him further into himself and away from Arthur or anyone else who tried to help.

Arthur waited until his breathing steadied.  _'Think it through, Arthur. You know fuck-all about Depression. You hardly know anything about your own problems. What can you possibly do about this on your own?'_

His first answer was, ' _not a goddam thing_ '. The second answer was a more helpful, ' _get help_ '. He knew people, and they knew people, and between the lot of them, surely someone knew someone who could help.

But no, he couldn't just blab Merlin's problems to the world. He'd had to be more selective about it.

' _Idiot_.'

He'd call Hunith in the morning. She'd been through it all before. She was the rock who had gotten Merlin through it all the last time, when Merlin had attempted…

Arthur refused to let himself think about that. He climbed to his feet and drifted up the stairs and into the bedroom. If Merlin was awake he wasn't letting it show, despite the desultory strip tease Arthur was giving him as he pulled his shirt and trousers off and tossed them onto the pile with Merlin's clothes.

He climbed into bed and curled up around Merlin, resting a hand on his chest just above his heart. The beat was slow, steady. His breathing was even. Asleep, then. He kissed Merlin's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "I love you."

 

* * *

 

When Arthur woke the next morning, he was alone. It was a fact his bleary mind couldn't quite wrap itself around, leaving him with the sense that there was something wrong with that, but unsure of what made it a bad thing to be alone just then.

He cracked his eyes open and was met with a bright light coming from beneath the blinds. He winced and rolled over to escape it, coming face to face with the very rumpled and very empty other half of the bed. Two scents hit him at once. The first was a masculine scent that wasn't his own, one that drove both his mind and body a little insane with desire until he realized that both the smell and his loneliness were linked. And that connection wasn't a good thing.

"Merlin?" His voice was still thick with sleep, and the word came out as more of a moan than a question. It sounded positively pornographic to Arthur's ears and he was, for an instant, glad that he was alone. Better that than to have a guest of any kind hear him from the next room and think that he was jerking off to thoughts of Merlin.

Then he remembered the mental wreckage last night had brought about, and suddenly being alone was an ominous thought indeed. But before he could panic, his brain figured out the second scent. Coffee.

Most mornings, the scent of coffee was an ordinary thing, whether he made it at home or stopped to pick some up on his way to work. After last night, though, it felt surreal. Like he would walk downstairs to find the clocks melting down the walls while elephants conspired to serve him tea. He sat up and started to untangle himself from the covers so he could go and investigate, but the answer found him instead.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice came from the hallway. "Are you awake yet?" The door squeaked as it opened, revealing a freshly-showered and clean-shaven Merlin, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed, holding a plate of scones in one hand and a pair of coffee mugs in the other. He grinned when he saw Arthur blinking up at him. "Well finally, sleepy-head. It's ten o' clock. I've already been up for two hours."

"You should've woken me up, then." Arthur rubbed his eyes and scooted back to make room for Merlin to sit.

"I tried. You weren't having anything to do with it, though. I guess you needed the sleep." Merlin sat down and set the plate between them, putting one of the mugs down before handing the other over to Arthur. His hand dropped lower and stroked the blankets over Arthur's crotch, retreating before he could do anything more than gasp and shiver, his hands clutching at the mug so he wouldn't drop it.

"You would have liked that wake-up call a little more than this one, " Merlin said. "But I guess you just weren't into it."

"Just be a little more insistent next time. I'm not adverse to a good morning shag," Arthur said. Merlin's cheeks flushed rosebud pink. He smiled and looked away, picking at one of the scones on the plate. Arthur watched him from over the brim of the mug as he sipped. The coffee helped clear the last of the fog from his brain. "Are you all right? You had me a little worried last night." ' _A little_ ' was the understatement of the decade, but there was no need to tell Merlin just how close to the edge they'd both been.

"Yeah, about that." Merlin fidgeted with his coffee cup and looked everywhere but at Arthur. "I'm sorry. It's… you know. There are good days and bad days, and yesterday was pretty lousy. It wasn't about you. Nothing like that," he hurried to add, eyes widening as his gaze found Arthur's. "You didn't do anything. It's just, you know, this… in my head." He tapped his forehead with his finger, a stuttering, nervous motion before he let his hand drop to the bed beside him. "Sorry about all that. No need to hide the sharp objects."

"I never said there was. I just… I was worried, is all. Maybe I should get your mum's phone number, just in case," Arthur said.

"Why not Will's? He's a lot closer."

"I don't think Will likes me very much," Arthur said as he took one of the scones off the plate. Crumbs fell off and scattered across the covers. He scowled at them. Merlin's hoodie wasn't the only thing going into the wash today. "He always looks at me like I'm some kind of predator that's going to swoop down and take your head off."

"That's just Will. It's the rich boy/poor boy dynamic, you know? He's seen it in his work and doesn't want it to happen to me, is all," Merlin said. "He's warming up to you. He's started calling you by name and everything."

"Will knows my name? Well. My life is complete. Where do I go from here?" Arthur asked. Merlin laughed. It was a beautiful sound, and Arthur would have done just about anything to make it last longer, but he wasn't quite quick enough to think of anything clever to say. Merlin's laughter died away, along with his smile. The shadows under his eyes were as deep as they'd ever been. Arthur fumbled for something to say. "Do you want to go out today? Or shall we just stay in? It's up to you."

Merlin stared down at his coffee and shrugged. "Where would we go?"

"I don't know. Catch a show somewhere in the West End? Wander around the museums? Hop on a train to Paris and have dinner in Montmartre?"

"Dinner in Paris?" Merlin looked up through his eyelashes. "That seems a bit ambitious for a lazy Saturday, doesn't it?"

"We're all supposed to have some sort of ambition, aren't we?" Arthur asked. "Is it so terrible to aspire to weekend getaways in Paris?"

"I guess not. But… I dunno. It seems like a bit much, doesn't it? Just for a day?"

Arthur shrugged and finished off his scone, sending a few more crumbs down his chin and onto the covers. He chewed slowly and took a sip of coffee, watching Merlin watch him. "What do you want to do, then?"

"Are you leaving it up to me, then?" Merlin asked. Arthur nodded. "We could wander the bookshops around Camden Town. I always find something good there."

"Bookshops?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to follow that up with a couple of poetry readings?"

Merlin flicked Arthur's ear. "I know a lot of poets. Some of them are really good. And anyway, you said it was up to me, right?" Arthur nodded again and caught Merlin's hand, twining their fingers together because he wanted to, for one, and because he didn't want Merlin to flick his ear again. "Bookshops it is, then. A gay-friendly activity that's not overtly gay. Should suit you, shouldn't it?" Merlin smirked, but the shadows in his eyes implied a harsher edge to his words than his voice did.

"I suppose I deserve that," Arthur acknowledged.

"And you could use the culture. You've got, like, three books in this whole place," Merlin said. "You keep saying you're smart, but it's hard to tell. You could be completely illiterate and working off color-coding for all I know."

"Hey, now," Arthur protested. "I was reading a book in that coffee house where you gave me your phone number, remember?"

"Maybe you were just turning pages."

"I'll turn you," Arthur growled, grinning as he pulled Merlin closer. He released Merlin's hand, winding his fingers through his hair to claim a kiss that he put up with for a short few seconds. Then he planted a hand on Arthur's chest and pushed away.

"No trying to get out of this with sex," Merlin said. He rolled to his feet and took Arthur's half-empty coffee mug out of his hand and grabbed the plate. There was half of a scone left. Merlin had only picked at it, just like he'd picked at his pizza the night before. "Come on," he said as he headed for the door. "Bookshops. Culture. Fresh air. Sunshine. They're waiting for us out there."

"Fresh, smoggy London air and dusty bookshops," Arthur muttered under his breath once Merlin had gone. "I signed up for an exciting weekend." But it could have been worse- he could have been in Glastonbury, putting up with his father. He'd take a weekend of book shopping with Merlin over that any day. Come to that, a weekend spent scrubbing bogs would be preferable to spending more time with his father.

Books, shopping, cafes, and who knew what else the day would bring? And all of it with Merlin. Happiness was all a matter of perspective, it seemed. When he looked at it that way, things could have been far worse.


	9. Chapter 9

" _I have been impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Being willing is not enough; we must do."_

-Leonardo da Vinci

* * *

 

Arthur should have known the sunshine wouldn't last forever. Or even all day. This was London, after all, and the bright morning that prompted a bloke to leave his umbrella behind would surely turn into a rainy afternoon. The downpour had its silver lining, though. Arthur managed to talk Merlin into heading into a coffee shop just down the street to save his new-to-him books from the wet. It also gave Arthur the chance to sit down for a bit, get the old book dust out of his lungs, and spoil Merlin again.

While waiting for their order to come up, Arthur glanced back to Merlin. He'd picked a little table by the window. Not Arthur's first choice of seats by any means, but if he had wanted one of the tables in the back, he should have said something. And anyway, Merlin looked like he was in heaven, what with his nose already buried in one of the books Arthur had bought him at the used bookshop down the street. The red cover was fading- hardly a surprise for a book printed in the 1940s- and the pages had that brittle quality that only old books had.

Merlin had fallen in love with it at first sight, and after their numerous meetings at Da Vinci's masterpiece in the National Gallery, Arthur shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen a battered paperback copy of  _The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci_  at Merlin's flat. The poor book had been loved nearly to death, and it would be a miracle if it survived another reading. The vintage volume now in Merlin's possession wouldn't stand up to that sort of wear and tear, but even Arthur had to admit that it was beautiful.

When Arthur had bought the book and promptly handed it to him, Merlin's smile outshined the sun. Arthur would have given up his life's savings to see Merlin smile like that again. Because what else were the fancy coffees, dinners, books, and everything else for, if not to catch glimpse of such light when the rest of Arthur's days were so grey?

"Your order's ready, sir," the barista said as she slid the two lattes across the counter to him. Her wrists hardly seemed thick enough to support the weight of her tiny hands, and forget about the weight of the heavy cups.

"Thanks," he said, focusing on the cups so he didn't spill or drop them on the way back. He set the lattes on the little table. The soft  _thunk_  knocked Merlin out of his reverie, and he pulled his nose out of the book, closed the cover with a reverent gesture, and tucked it back into the shopping bag.

"Does this mean I'm more interesting than the book, then?" Arthur asked.

Merlin tilted his head, looked Arthur up and down, and shrugged. "I suppose you'll do. But I know who I'm taking to bed with me the next time you're gone."

"At least you're waiting until I'm gone. I'd hate to have to compete with a beardy old man for your attention."

"He was a good-looking bloke in his day. I can show you pictures of the statuary as proof some time," Merlin said. He slowly spun his latte around, examining the swirling pattern in the foam from all angles. Unless it was in a takeaway cup he never dove right into a coffee drink. He always took the time to admire the lines and shapes the baristas managed to create with just a bit of milk and coffee.  _'Some of it's art, you know,'_  he'd told Arthur once,  _'its impermanence is part of the appeal, like a Buddhist sand painting. It isn't meant to last. That's what makes it special'._

He'd launched into an aside on the temporality of art and lost Arthur within a few words, but that hadn't mattered. Like their first meeting at the National Gallery, Merlin had been swept up in the topic he loved and had positively glowed, while Arthur was just trying to keep up and make sure his questions didn't make him sound like a complete idiot.

"He was probably gay, you know," Merlin said softly.

"Da Vinci was?"

"Yeah. He almost died because of it, too. He was put on trial for sodomy. Probably would have been executed if he'd been found guilty. But there wasn't enough evidence against him, so they dismissed the charges." Merlin finally raised the latte to his lips, blowing the foam away from the edge to keep the design from being destroyed too soon. "Makes me glad I live in an age where it's not a crime to love who you want."

Arthur's fingers twitched around his cup. He glanced guiltily at Merlin, but the other man's eyes were downcast, his lips hidden by cup and latte. The rest of his face was set and unreadable, but Arthur thought he knew the where the train of Merlin's thought was headed: the same place it always was when this came up. That Arthur  _still_  hadn't told anyone the truth about himself, and that Morgana was the only one on his side of the relationship who knew about Merlin.

They had been together for four and a half months, and Arthur still hadn't kept his Christmas promise.

Merlin was patient. He had the patience of a thousand saints. But even he couldn't wait forever. Not with the way this secret was wearing on him.

And Arthur, who had gone into battle on the other side of the world and faced down gunfire without flinching, somehow couldn't work up the courage to tell a simple truth about himself.

Arthur set his latte down harder than he meant to, and it sloshed over the side and onto his fingers. He grabbed a napkin to mop up the mess. "I'm sorry. I'm trying. I-"

Someone knocked on the window. Arthur kept himself from glaring, but couldn't stop his eyes rolling at Gwaine's too-cheerful smile or the garish orange umbrella he carried. He mouthed a  _"Hi! I'm coming in!"_ before Arthur could tell him this wasn't the best of times.

"Sorry," he muttered to Merlin as Gwaine stepped inside. "He was in my unit in Afghanistan. He's a good man, just… Sometimes he doesn't know when to shut up. I'd tell him to bugger off, but I doubt he'd listen. He barely followed the orders I gave him during the war. Still managed to save my life a time or three."

Arthur hadn't quite sorted out the emotions that flashed across Merlin's face when Gwaine collected his order- one tea, a splash of milk, and two sugars, please- hooked a lonely chair with one foot and sat down. He made an awkward third wheel, threading his arm across the table and over the cups to shake Merlin's hand. "Hi, I'm Gwaine."

"I'm supposed to make the introductions, you know," Arthur said, dusting a hand over Gwaine's head in retribution, as though the minor breach of etiquette was worthy of punishment.

"Make the introductions, then, mon capitaine," Gwaine said without looking at Arthur. He was looking Merlin up and down, trying to figure out what Merlin was all about. He had always been good at reading people. Arthur wondered what clues he saw in Merlin's face, clothes, or the way he sat.

"Fine, then," Arthur said. "Merlin, this is Gwaine. He was the biggest pain in the ass in my unit in Afghanistan. Gwaine, this is my friend Merlin." It was the wrong thing to say, and Arthur knew it the moment the word fell off his tongue.  _Friend._ A good word, a meaningful word. But not the  _right_  word. It didn't describe what he and Merlin were or what they had. It wasn't deep enough for that. It wasn't the truth. And now was too late to take it back. "He knows more about art and history and anything else you can think of than anyone else I've ever met," Arthur finished, though it sounded hollow in his ears.

The smile had drained out of Merlin's eyes and frozen solid on his face.

"Does he, then?" Gwaine carried on like nothing had happened. Perhaps he hadn't noticed. "Am I going to see you on some show like  _QI_  in the future? Because that would be brilliant."

"Ah, no. Can't say that I would be," Merlin ducked his head. "I don't fancy being on TV, you know? Not fan of all the publicity."

"Too bad," Gwaine said without disappointment. "I'd like to meet someone famous someday. And your father doesn't count, Arthur. I want it to be someone with a personality. A  _real_  personality, not that… whatever it is that Uther's trying to pull over everyone on the telly." He sipped his tea, eyes flicking back and forth between Arthur and Merlin. "So. What brings you to Camden? The shopping or the rain?"

"The shopping," Arthur said. "Until the rain showed up, anyway."

"Finally following Gwen's advice to go get cultured, then?"

"Yeah, well, you know how she is," Arthur said. "Gets an idea in her head and she won't let it go until she sees it through. Even if doesn't actually involve her." He tried to watch Merlin without being obvious about it, tried to catch his eye to mentally apologize for the interruption of their day out. He knew Gwaine lived in the Camden area, he just hadn't imagined that Gwaine would come across them out of the blue. Out of eight million people in London, what were the chances you'd stumble across the one person you didn't fancy seeing at that moment?

Arthur should have known better than to bet on his own chances at screwing things up. He should have pleaded PTSD and talked Merlin into a table in the back. He should have convinced Merlin that nothing could have been better than a weekend in Paris. He should have told the truth about himself ages ago.

There were altogether too many "should have dones" in Arthur's life right now, and he had no way to apologize for not doing them. Not with Gwaine yammering on about some bit of gossip, and Merlin paying entirely too much attention to his fast-disappearing latte.

This wasn't supposed to be how their day turned out.

"... so you'd better get your nice suit out of the back of the closet and make a hotel reservation," Gwaine said, finishing a monologue Arthur hadn't been listening to.

"Sorry? A reservation for what?"

Gwaine scowled. "Did you hear anything I said? Hotel reservations. Suit. For Kay's wedding. To Rose. In Aberdeen. They sent out the invitations on Tuesday, so yours is probably waiting for you, if you'd ever bother to check your mail." He smirked and flipped his hair out of his face. "I'm thinking of asking Morgana along as my plus one. Think she'd say yes?"

"I think she's as likely to slap you across the face for asking, so please. Ask away," Arthur said. "But please, do it in my presence so I can see her do it.

"What, not going to play the proper brother and be all threatening that  _I_  want to ask your sister out?" Gwaine said.

"Morgana is more than capable of taking care of herself. Send her off to Afghanistan, and she could finish the war by herself without messing up her hair," Arthur replied, almost smiling at the thought. He glanced over at Merlin, who had finished off his latte and had his phone out, texting.

"Yeah, she probably could do. She could probably knock my face right off my head, too, but on the off chance she said 'yes', it'd be worth it. Gotta take your chances, you know? Some things are worth the risk," Gwaine said. "And then you'd have to find someone else to take with you. It's a little weird to show up at a wedding alone." Gwaine wasn't looking at Arthur when he said that. Or at Merlin. He sipped the last of his tea.

Arthur risked a glance over at Merlin, but he was staring out at the rain, oblivious to either Arthur's attention or Gwaine's. Until his phone buzzed with a text alert. He jerked out of his slouch, tapped the phone to check the message, then pocketed it.

"I've, uh, I've gotta go," Merlin said. "Will, that is, my flatmate, needs a hand with something. It was good to meet you." He flashed a smile at Gwaine, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Likewise. We'll see you around, then?" Gwaine asked.

"Maybe? Yeah. Probably," Merlin shrugged as he edged around the table, barely acknowledging Arthur as he brushed by.

"I'll see you later," Arthur blurted out before Merlin got too far away.

"Later. Yeah," Merlin said with another tight, insincere smile. Then he was out the door. He flipped his hood up against the rain and shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders up to his ears as he hurried down the street to the closest tube station. Arthur wondered if Merlin cared which line it was, so long as it carried him away from the wreck that  _their_ day had become.

"Everything all right?" Gwaine asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Arthur fibbed. "Probably just something to do with the maintenance at their flat. It's not in the best of buildings." That wasn't a lie. The old building had a myriad of problems, but nothing short of a major flood or the whole works falling down would prompt Will to call Merlin away. Unless Will suspected Arthur of mistreating Merlin.

Will spent his life rescuing people from dangerous domestic situations, after all. And Will had never cared for Arthur.

His stomach twisted into a painful knot.

"If you say so," Gwaine said, not entirely convinced by Arthur's act, but willing to go along with it- for once- to keep the peace. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Arthur lied again. "I'm fine."

' _We should have gone to Paris.'_

 

* * *

 

Merlin didn't reply to the dozen or so texts Arthur sent over the next several hours. Nor did he answer the two phone calls. It was radio silence on that front, and it took every drop of willpower Arthur had to not get in his car and drive halfway across London to Merlin's flat and see if he was there, and if he was alright.

And if there was anything Arthur could do to make it up to him.

He sort of doubted that there was. Today was supposed to have been for the two of them alone. Time away from family drama and friends. Time to just be together, whether it was out shopping or staying in and watching bad movies on the telly.

It wasn't supposed to be the sort of day where one of Arthur's mates from the army showed up by chance to throw a wrench in the works. And it definitely wasn't supposed to be the day that Arthur introduced Merlin as 'friend'. Not 'boyfriend' or 'the man I've fallen in love with'. Just 'friend'.

Whatever harsh words Merlin had for him if-  _when_ \- he came back again, Arthur deserved them all, and more besides. If only Merlin would respond.

Eight o'clock came along. Arthur went out for takeaway curry, ordered for two, came home, and ate alone.

Ten o'clock rolled by. Arthur melted into the couch, silent phone in hand, and watched comedians answer ridiculous questions on a game show he couldn't bring himself to laugh at.

At a quarter til eleven, he was still sprawled out on the couch, half-asleep, when the front door rattled. Or, closer to the mark, the doorknob rattled as though whoever was on the other side hadn't quite figured out the complicated process of 'turn knob and push door'. But it was locked, and there were only two other people in the world who had a key. Morgana and…

"Merlin?" Arthur launched himself to his feet and toward the doorway, reaching the entry just as the door swung open to reveal a silhouetted figure that was definitely  _not_  Morgana.

He hung back for a moment, opting to not to overwhelm Merlin with the words and kisses he'd spent the day rehearsing, as though the right combination would make the coffee shop fiasco go away. "Merlin?"

"'m back." Merlin slurred. He leaned back against the closed door and worked his shoes off his feet, haphazardly kicking them off to the side before starting on his hoodie. The t-shirt peeled away with it, and Merlin dropped them both onto the pile of shoes. His eyes were glassy when he looked up at Arthur. "Were you asleep?"

"No, just watching one of those stupid game shows. Are you…" Arthur stretched a hand out, but Merlin was just out of reach. "Are you alright?"

"I'm… Yeah." He focused on Arthur like they hadn't seen each other for years, a naked, untrammeled desire plainly written on his face. He crossed the space between them in two unsteady steps. One hand came up, the fingers winding into Arthur's hair; the other slid under Arthur's t-shirt and up his back, pulling him close and clinging so tightly that Arthur could feel Merlin's shivers and the racing of his heart.

"Merlin, are you-"

Merlin's lips locked onto his, an all-consuming kiss that threatened to suck all the breath and warmth from Arthur's body, and damned if he wasn't willing to let it all go. Merlin's teeth caught Arthur's lower lip, biting down just hard enough to straddle the blurry line between pain and pleasure, holding there until a pleased little moan welled up from Arthur's chest.

His tongue traced along Merlin's lips. He tasted like cheap booze from cheap clubs and smelled vaguely- threateningly- like strange men's colognes. Arthur shuddered when Merlin released his lips, trading up the bruising pressure for feather-light kisses along his neck. "Fuck me," he breathed into Arthur's ear. An invitation, not an invective.

"What?"

"'m I not clear enough?" Merlin asked. The tip of his tongue flicked out, brushing over Arthur's earlobe, his jaw, his throat. "Fuck me. Please, Arthur." Merlin's hand on his back drifted lower, drawing tight, feathery circles over his skin, the pressure enough to nearly drive him mad with desire. "Don't you want me?"

Arthur jerked back like Merlin's words had cut the wire to disarm the bomb he'd set in Arthur's head. He brought his hands up to cup Merlin's face, tilting his head up to lock gazes with him, glassy-eyes to clear. Arthur took half a step away. His body had roused under Merlin's touches, and it hadn't quite responded to his brain's demand for reason. Pajama bottoms couldn't hide the effects.

"Merlin, look at me," Arthur said. "I want you more than anything or anyone. You are the only one I've wanted since I laid eyes on you in that coffee shop." Merlin moved to wrap himself around Arthur again, but Arthur caught him by the shoulders to hold him off. "Believe me, there is nothing I want to do more than take up you upstairs and do nasty, nasty things to you. But I can't. I won't. Not right now."

"Why?" Merlin's face started to crumple, a frightening wetness springing into his eyes. "What is so wrong with me?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. But you are drunk, and I am not going to take advantage of that," Arthur said.

Merlin stared at him for a long, long time, like he was trying to find the lie that wasn't there in Arthur's eyes. He finally sagged, defeated. His head rested against Arthur's shoulder and his knees buckled. Arthur caught him and sat down with him, a tangle of misery and wanting on the edge of the carpet, the clock  _ticktickticking_  away too loudly above them.

"I'm too much in my head," Merlin whispered at last. His breathing was uneven, like he was about to cry or be sick or had run too far on a full stomach. "Just wanted to get out of it for a while. Be… out. In my body. I wanted you to…" What he wanted Arthur to do he never said. He fell silent but not asleep. Worn out and utterly spent, but- if his mind mirrored Arthur's at all- too full of unspoken thoughts to rest.

The clock chimed the hour. Arthur wasn't sure which one it was. Eleven? Midnight? Was it the next night already, and did it matter in the end? "We should go up to bed," he said. "Get some sleep. When your head's cleared up a little, maybe I can pull you the rest of the way out of it?"

Merlin's smile was bleak, but it reached his eyes until he closed them. "Okay. Bed, then. Better than the floor."

"Yeah." He pulled Merlin to his unsteady feet and guided him up the stairs, helped him fumble out of his jeans, and made sure Merlin was covered up when he crawled into bed. Arthur climbed in after him, ignoring the ache in his heart when Merlin turned his head away. He put a hand on Merlin's chest. That didn't cause a stir, so he left it, marking the rhythm of his breathing and the steady pace of his heartbeat.

He'd left the lamp on, but there was no point in turning if off. And anyway, it let him watch Merlin as he drifted off into sleep. The light softened the edges of his face, smoothing away the faint wrinkles around his eyes and the line in his brow. He looked content now, like he hadn't for months..

' _I am an oblivious idiot.'_

Some part of him had known the toll this relationship- this  _secret_ \- must have been taking on Merlin, but he'd never stopped to truly think it over, think about the cost of it all- in sleep, in peace of mind, or the pure freedom that living openly provided. Now here they were, with Merlin cracking apart, drunk the way he shouldn't be with his meds, so wanting and crumbling, aching for the thing Arthur was too terrified to give him: acknowledgment. The truth.

"I've made you wait too long," Arthur whispered in his ear. "I've been selfish and thoughtless and cruel for doing this to you. But I'm going to change that. I'm going to tell everyone tomorrow. I promise you, love."

Merlin couldn't hear it, but to Arthur the pledge was as good as a blood oath sworn on a thousand holy books.

Tomorrow. He latched onto the idea and held it as closely as he wanted to hold Merlin, running it through his imagination until he finally followed Merlin into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Arthur woke with the knowledge that someone was looking at him. He opened his eyes to find Merlin studying him, the same way that Arthur had studied him earlier. His eyes were clear. It was still dark outside.

Merlin licked his lips. "Do you still-?"

"Yes."

They came together in a teeth-clacking kiss, their hands fumbling with the blankets until one of them managed to push them aside. Arthur shivered when the cool air hit him, but beneath him, Merlin was still warm, still  _wanting_. His fingers wove through Arthur's hair, keeping him close until Arthur managed to push away. "Stop," he said.

"What? Why? I thought you..." Hurt flashed through Merlin's eyes.

Arthur leaned down to kiss it away. "I do want to. I want to do nothing but you," he said, his voice low and gravelly. His lips traced the lines of Merlin's throat from jaw to collarbone, first kissing, then sucking, then kissing again. "But you asked me to fuck you. So that's what I'm going to do."

"Oh." Merlin melted into the pillows, his powers of speech abandoning him as Arthur set about his task. He found the scar under Merlin's collarbone and sucked, drinking in the taste of salt and sweat until Merlin let out a breathy moan. His hand found Arthur's shoulder, blunt nails digging into his skin. Arthur captured that hand, pinning it against the bed. His fingers encircled Merlin's wrist, thumb touching his forefinger while Merlin's pulse fluttered against his palm.

Merlin's eyes were heavy-lidded, his pupils gone wide. Arthur brushed his cheek and traced the outline of his lips, drawing his hand over Merlin's throat and over his chest, across the outline of ribs, and down the plane of his abdomen. All the way down to Merlin's half-hard cock, teasing it until it was fully at attention.

"You… ahh…." Arthur cut off anymore of Merlin's attempts at speech with a long, bruising kiss cut off only by his need for air. Then, with lips and tongue, he retracted the path his hand had taken down Merlin's body, pausing here and there to taste a nipple, drag his tongue around the rim of Merlin's navel. Then finally, finally to Merlin's erection so his mouth could finish what his hand had started.

Merlin cried out. Arthur managed to glance up. Merlin's eyes were wide open, his free hand clutching at the pillow so hard Arthur wondered if he would tear it open. His mouth was open wide, wet and inviting, and Arthur couldn't help but imagine their positions switched, the thought making him so hard he thought he might come at just the imagining. Then he shoved the thoughts aside, because this wasn't supposed to be about Arthur.

It was about Merlin and Merlin's pleasure. It was about the way he tasted when Arthur brought him almost to the point of climax, then eased away to start the cycle anew. It was about the marvelous noises Merlin was making, and the way his fingers tightened around Arthur's until he thought they would break.

And when the words,  _'please, please, please,'_ formed on Merlin's lips, Arthur finally let it happen, let Merlin's orgasm wash over him, his back arching and muscles tightening. Merlin cried out one last time before his breath caught in his lungs, his body clenching like it was about to burst apart, then he shuddered and sagged against the bed.

Arthur straightened so he could see Merlin properly, swallowed, and wiped his mouth. Merlin still rode the last waves of ecstasy, breathing in time with it, abdominal muscles clenching and relaxing until it was over. His eyes closed, and his head lolled back against the pillows. His outstretched hands were limp. He shuddered, something like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Arthur brought himself off without fanfare, grabbing a few tissues from the nightstand to clean up before curling up next to Merlin. They watched each other wordlessly, heads too empty of thought to form words. Merlin closed his eyes, and finally Arthur did, too, chasing each other into a sated sleep.

The last thought in Arthur's mind was this: that Merlin hadn't closed his eyes in time to hide the last, dark motes of despair.

 

* * *

 

Arthur didn't have to look to know that it was dark when he woke again. He didn't have to ask why he was awake, either. The uneasy twisting in his stomach answered that easily enough. The trick was tracking down the source.

Granted, the previous day would provide a wealth of smaller problems to chew on to try to figure out how it could have been different, but this… this stomach churning anxiety wasn't caused by a little spilled milk problem. This was something bigger, something…

Oh.

It went back to Afghanistan, like so many of his problems did, and a video posted by one extremist group or another. And attempt to frighten the infidel Westerners away, and keep the locals in line with the warlords' agenda. In the video, there had been an Afghani man. A translator maybe, or a guide. Or he could have been some unlucky shopkeeper who sold a souvenir trinket to a Western soldier and been condemned for it. Arthur would never know what or who the man had been. All he knew about were the man's final moments, shoved against a crumbling wall, his hands spread wide in supplication. In the last instant he had closed his eyes, surrendering to the bullet that killed him.

Arthur shuddered and tried to push the memory away but his mind wouldn't obey, winding the memories the Afghani man at his execution and Merlin at his climax into a twisted concatenation that nearly made him sick to his stomach. He curled up tighter around himself, taking long, deep breaths to ward off the nausea.

The bedroom door opened. Arthur twisted around to look and cursed himself for not realizing that Merlin had gone until he came back. "Are you alright?" he asked. Merlin made a noncommittal noise and shakily crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up around his shoulders without touching Arthur. He smelled sour, like old sweat and vomit. "Are you sick?"

"Was," Merlin grunted. " Probably all that alcohol I shouldn't have drunk. I'll be fine."

"I didn't hear you get up. You should have woken me."

"I went to the bathroom down the hall," Merlin said, shifting so he faced away from Arthur. "Didn't want to bother you."

"I wouldn't have minded," Arthur said, but Merlin didn't reply, and Arthur was hesitant to press the matter. He listened to Merlin shift around, trying to make himself comfortable, his breathing uneven and stuttering for what felt like years until his shoulders relaxed and he drifted back to sleep.

Arthur lay silently, staring up at the ceiling or at the back of Merlin's head, trying to sort out what had gone wrong in the past few hours, unable to come up with an answer, but determined to keep watch over Merlin. Just in case. But he was tired and mentally stretched thin, and he couldn't ignore the warmth of the bed or his need for sleep forever.

When morning came, Merlin was gone.

 

* * *

 

He hadn't gone far, Arthur discovered when he raced down the stairs in search of his phone. Merlin hadn't woken early to make coffee or search for scones like he had yesterday. He was asleep on the couch, wrapped up in the comforter from the guest room's bed. He didn't look sick. He was pale as ever and breathing evenly. But Arthur couldn't resist resting a hand on Merlin's forehead, just to check. His temperature seemed normal, no need to worry.

Merlin stirred and blinked owlishly up at him. "I'm fine," he said, brushing Arthur's hand away. He sat up and tugged the comforter back over his shoulders.

"What'd you come all the way down here for?"

"I needed some space. Wanted to think some things over," Merlin said. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor below the television.

Arthur's heart thudded upward into his throat. "And?" he managed to choke out.

"And nothing. I haven't sorted through it all yet. I'm- I dunno. I just- I wanted some space is all." Merlin scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Do, um, do you want some coffee or… or something?" Arthur clasped the back of the chair to keep his hands from shaking. He almost hoped Merlin would refuse the coffee. The scent of it alone might set his churning stomach into a full scale revolt.

"No," Merlin said. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Arthur tried to figure out what to say next, what the right move was. Or what the  _wrong_  move was, so he could avoid it, but his brain couldn't come up with any answer, let alone the right one. He thought it was entirely possible that there was no correct step to take and that a move in any direction would lead to disaster, like dancing across a minefield. "I- I think I'm going to go up and get a shower. Do you-?"

"No."

Arthur fled upstairs and back into his bedroom, stripping out of his hastily donned pajamas as he went. Once in the bathroom, he paused in front of the toilet, while he decided if he was going to throw up, or if it was just a passing thing. It passed. He took a deep breath stepped into the shower, turned the hot water to high and just stood there, trying to figure what had happened between the sex last night and now.

He couldn't come up with an answer. There had to be one, of course. And it  _had_  to come from Arthur's end. He was the screw up in the relationship, after all. He was the one lying to everyone about himself. This wasn't a problem of advanced calculus, it was basic math, and Arthur was the irrational number that didn't fit into the simple equation. If he could only figure out how to solve himself, then things could go back to the way they were. Maybe he and Merlin would be alright again.

But there was no answer. At least, not one that his dull brain could come up with. And the hot water wouldn't last forever, so he got out, dried off, and put on the first set of clothes that came to hand. Old jeans and an older t-shirt. Then he summoned up his courage and did the bravest thing he could think of. He went downstairs.

Merlin hadn't gone far. He'd folded up the comforter and set it aside, put his shoes and hoodie on, and curled back up on the couch. His backpack sat on the floor beside him, packed, zipped, and ready to go. Arthur's stomach threatened to revolt again. He swallowed back the bile and took a deep breath.

"Merlin?"

He turned his head toward Arthur, but didn't look up, didn't answer, didn't acknowledge his presence in any other way. Arthur closed the distance between the stairs and the couch, perching on the edge of the coffee table. "What's wrong?"

Merlin's mouth opened, then closed. He brushed a hand over his eyes, then let that hand fall back into his lap, where it balled up into a fist. "What is it you want from me?" he asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I- what? Nothing!" Arthur jerked back like he'd been hit. "I don't want anything from you. I just want you."

"Then why? Why all this- this secrecy? Why can't you just  _tell_  your friends about yourself? About  _us_?" Merlin looked up at him, his jaw set, eyebrows drawn together in anger. "Do I mean anything to you, or am I just your Saturday night shag? The bloke you fuck on the weekends so you can get off, and then go out and be all normal the rest of the week?" He rolled to his feet and paced a few steps away before turning back, his arms crossed tightly in front of himself.

"Merlin, this isn't about the sex. I'm…" Arthur stood up, hands on his hips, and tried to find the right words and put them all in their proper order. "I'm going to tell everyone. Today, if I can. I promise-"

"I don't believe you." Merlin shook his head, a jerking motion that spoke more of anger than of disbelief. "You've said that before. At Christmas. That was  _months_  ago, Arthur, and you haven't said a fucking word about it to anyone, have you! Not a single word. I only met Morgana because she had you figured out from the start, but the rest of your friends? Gwen and Lance and Leon and the others? I know them from pictures, from a few stories you've told. Meeting Gwaine was just bad luck yesterday, wasn't it? If you'd been thinking about it, we wouldn't have gone to Camden at all. Because Gwaine lives there, and there was a chance we might run into him. Just a poor calculation on your part." Merlin drew in a ragged breath.

"And then, just when you had the chance to finally fucking tell someone who you really are," Merlin grated, "all you can say is, 'this is my friend Merlin'.  _Friend_. Do all your  _friends_  suck your cock, or is it just the one you won't tell anyone about? The one you can hardly bear to be seen in public with?"

"I am not embarrassed to be seen with you!" Arthur barely kept from shouting. "Yesterday, with Gwaine… I wanted yesterday to be for us, and then he showed up, and I kept thinking about how I didn't want him there, sticking his nose in our business. When I said you were my friend, I knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as I said it, but I couldn't take it back. I wish I'd done things differently, but-"

Merlin cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Of course you'll say that now. It's easy to say you wish things were different. Just like it's easy to  _say_  you'll do something, or promise you'll do something. Saying is easy. It's the doing that's the hard part, and you never do it. You wouldn't invite me to your birthday party because you were afraid. You won't let me to meet Gwen and Lance, I won't be your plus one at your friend's wedding..." Merlin broke off and looked toward the door. Tears spilled over onto his cheeks, and he dashed them away. "I can't do this anymore. I just- I can't. I'm sorry." He reached down to grab his backpack.

"Merlin, stop!" Arthur reached out to keep him from going. He grabbed Merlin's arm. Hard. Maybe enough to bruise. Their eyes met and widened, Merlin's with fear, and Arthur's because his own actions shocked him. He jerked away like he'd burned his hand. Merlin took the opportunity to flee, throwing the door open and bounding down the steps, running away as fast as he could.

Arthur took a few, useless steps toward the door as it swung shut, latching itself with a final, terrible  _click._ His knees buckled. He didn't even try to stay upright, just let himself fall into a tangle on the floor. His vision blurred with unshed tears. His stomach knotted up again. He could hardly breathe. If it was a panic attack coming on, he didn't have the will to fight it. He just stared at the door, hoping that it would open, that Merlin would come back, and that he would have the chance to explain himself. To make everything right again.

The door never opened.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets."  
_ – Paul Tournier

 

* * *

 

Merlin didn't answer Arthur's first phone call, or even his eighth. He didn't respond to any of the fourteen texts Arthur sent, either, leaving him to rattle about in his flat and wait for Merlin to call or text or come back or do anything to let Arthur apologize for grabbing his arm like that. For not telling everyone the truth between Christmas and now. For just generally being a terrible human being where Merlin was concerned. Because all Merlin had wanted was to be loved and acknowledged- the way Lance was with Gwen, because Lance would happily shout about his love from the highest rooftop in London if she asked him to.

Merlin had just wanted the same thing. Less than that, even. Just three little words, and not even the ones that anyone else would have wanted: ' _I am gay_ '. They weren't so hard to say. Arthur would be able to tell them to the mirror if he could bring himself to look in it.

But he couldn't manage it, nor could he pry himself away from the couch on the off chance that Merlin came back to the door. Because what would happen if he did come back, and Arthur was off in the kitchen or bathroom and didn't hear the doorbell? Second chances didn't come along often, and he wasn't about to miss his if it showed up on his doorstep.

He waited. All the dreary day long, he waited for that second chance to happen. Waited with bated breath and mobile in his hands. The shadows crawled along the floor and the clock hands slowly ticked around in their circles. But the doorbell never dinged, and the phone never rang. And Arthur's imagination built ever more frightening scenarios- Merlin hit by a car during his flight from Arthur's flat; Merlin ending up at another bar, mixing more alcohol with his anti-depressants to a deadly effect; Merlin opening his veins in the bathtub again.

Arthur dialed Merlin's number without realizing he was doing it until the voicemail picked up, and suddenly Merlin's voice was in his ear again, ' _Hi, this is Merlin. I'm not available right now but, uh, leave your name and a message and I'll get back you.'_

The beep and several seconds passed before Arthur could form words. "Uhm… It's Arthur. Again. Of course you can see that, though, so… I… I just want to apologize for- for this morning. And for everything. I've been such a coward about all this. And it's not about you, Merlin. It's- I'm- I'm a complete idiot, and I should have just come out to everyone at Christmas. Just, you know, like ripping a plaster off your arm. Do it all quick like, in one go, and it's done. And I didn't. And it's not because I'm ashamed of you or anything like that. You are a bloody saint to have put up with me and my bullshit all this time, Merlin. I…"

The words dried up. He cleared his throat to go on. "I want you to come back. To me. So I can make things right between us. That's… that's all I want. What we had is  _everything_  I wanted. I messed it all up, and I'm sorry. And… If, uhm… If you can't forgive me I- I can learn to live with it. But just, please. Call me or text me, but just please let me know you're all right. Merlin-"

There was another beep. The call disconnected. Arthur lowered the phone and stared at the screen until it went dark.

Another hour passed in silence. He conjured up more dire scenarios in his head, working himself up until he either had to go and do  _something_ , or sit there and wait for his heart to burst.

He had his car keys in hand and was shoving his feet into a pair of shoes before he knew what he was doing. He was in the car and halfway to Trafalgar Square before he realized he didn't have a destination in mind. He was just driving mindlessly, aware of nothing more than his hands on the steering wheel and the rain falling on the windscreen.

Night was falling, but the heart of London was full of light- from cars and buses, signs and buildings. As he neared the West End, the crowds grew thicker and traffic slowed. There were umbrellas representing every color of the spectrum, the brightest ones flashing garishly under the lights of giant advertisements and the flashes of tourists' cameras.

And the people. People everywhere. Groups of friends clinging to the spaces along the buildings and pairs of lovers huddled under umbrellas. And everyone looked so happy, despite the rain.

_'We could have been part of this. We could have been happy, too.'_

He was almost to Merlin's building before he realized that it wasn't getting darker because of his mood or some oncoming panic attack. He'd left the West End behind, with its theaters and lights and thousands of happy people and traded it up for a quieter part of the city. A lonelier place where tourists didn't go, and people didn't linger outside in the rain.

Arthur parked down the street and walked back to Merlin's building. The lights were on in other flats, glowing warmly behind curtains and blinds. Merlin's window was dark, and so was Will's. No one answered when he rang at the front door, and no one picked up the phone when he called again.

_'Now what?'_   There was no one else he could call. He didn't have Hunith's number or even Will's since he'd neglected to get either one from Merlin yesterday. He didn't have a key to Merlin's flat so he couldn't just go up and wander in. Will would probably call the police on him if he went upstairs. And-- the last, worst thought-- no hospital would tell him if Merlin was there at all, let alone what condition he was in. If Merlin was even in hospital at all. Maybe it was too late for any of that, and Merlin was on a slab in a morgue somewhere, and Arthur would find his obituary listed tomorrow or the day after.

Arthur resisted the urge to call Merlin again.

His hands were shaking when he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He had to focus on his steps on the way back to the car, like he was drunk and trying not to look it when walking across a room. He was shivering when he got back to the car and spent the next fifteen minutes in the driver's seat, his arms folded over the steering wheel with the heat blasting on high. He knew without having to think about why, that he couldn't go home and face his dark and empty flat by himself.

Morgana was away on business, and he couldn't face his army friends in his current state. Not even Leon, who was so steadfast and unphased by anything. That left Gwen. Calm, understanding Gwen, who had listened to Arthur's endless bitching about his life, his father, and everything else while they were growing up. It was Sunday night. She and Lance would be home. They had to be home. Because Arthur wasn't sure what he would do if he was alone tonight.

He started the car and punched their address into the sat nav, and when he reached the Tower Bridge, the urge to get out of the car and fling himself into the Thames didn't hit him like he feared it might. The he was across the river and heading deeper into south London until he found the right street. The lights were on in Gwen and Lance's house. Arthur breathed a shaking sigh of relief.

He parked and hurried back up the street, his hands jammed into his pockets and shoulders hunched against the rain like it would somehow keep him dry until he reached their doorstep. His finger hovered over the bell for a moment, then hit it. He was shaking again, his stomach threatening to rebel, his legs unable to decide if they were going to carry him away as fast as he could run or if they were going give out on the step.

"Arthur! We weren't expecting you." Gwen's welcoming smile turned into a look of alarm at the sight of him. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Morgana?" She opened the door wide to let him in, taking him by the arm and guiding him indoors when he didn't move. "Give me your coat and take those shoes off. You're soaked! Are you alright? No," she stopped herself and brushed a hand over Arthur's forehead. "Let's get you warmed up, and then you can tell us what's the matter. Lance? Can you put the kettle on?" she called over her shoulder as she guided him into the living room.

The television was on, paused in the midst of an episode of  _Doctor Who_. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat on an end table, and a rumpled blanket hung over the arm of the couch. Arthur had clearly interrupted their quiet night in, but couldn't quite bring himself to regret it. His head was too full of guilt to add even more to the mix.

He hardly noticed when the blanket was draped around his shoulders and the television went dark. Lance settled into a chair, elbows on his knees and hands loosely clasped while he waited for Gwen to come back. They didn't talk. Arthur couldn't fathom the English language just then, and Lance was content to wait quietly until Arthur was ready to speak. He was a patient man, and for that Arthur was grateful.

He had gotten his breathing back under control by the time Gwen returned, and he'd stopped shivering. But Arthur was still at a loss of what to say and do next. How could he express to two of his best friends how deep his self-loathing was, how he had wondered if he might throw himself off the bridge on the way to their house, or that he was afraid of what he might do to himself if they left him alone?

"Do you want anything?" Gwen asked as she sat down beside him.

He wanted oblivion. She gave him tea.

"I texted Morgana while I was in the kitchen," Gwen said as though she hadn't asked a question that Arthur had failed to answer. "She answered right away, and she's fine. Somehow, I don't think you'd have this reaction if something had happened to your father, so what's wrong?"

Arthur's throat was too tight to speak. He sipped the tea, its sweetness making him acutely aware that he hadn't eaten all day. "I- uhhm… I don't know where to start. I'm a fucking idiot, and I fucked up today. I've been fucking everything up for ages, and I've no one to blame but myself for what happened. If I'd just gotten over it and told the truth, then none of this would have happened today, but since I didn't, he left, and I can't find him. He won't answer my calls, and he wasn't home when I went by his flat and…" his voice broke. "Fuck…"

"It's all right. Just slow down," Gwen said. "Who left?"

"Merlin," Arthur replied shakily.

"And who's Merlin?"

"He's…" Arthur's voice threatened to fail him again. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax and try to find some measure of calm. He'd made a promise to Merlin once, and while now wasn't the best time, it might be the only time he had to do it. "Merlin is, was… my boyfriend. I am gay." He hung his head and stared down at the tea in his hands.

Gwen wrapped her arm around his and rested her head against his shoulder. "Oh, Arthur." Something in her voice made him look up, despite the wetness in his eyes. Her smile was small and sad. "I know. I've known for a long time."

He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Did Morgana tell you, then? And does everyone know?"

"I think Gwaine knows," Lance said. "He's observant like that. But I don't think the other guys know. Or if they do, they've kept their mouths shut."

"And Morgana didn't tell me anything," Gwen said. "I just have the advantage of having known you for a long time. Or did you forget about all that time we dated in school?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur's brows knit in confusion. Gwen was around when they were kids. She'd been Morgana's best friend for ages. And maybe they'd gone out to the movies a few times, but he'd never thought of them as dates.

Gwen's smile brightened. "You kept asking me to go do things with you. What's a girl supposed to think when a boy wants her to go see a film with him, or go get coffee or whatever? Everyone at school thought we were dating, and so did I!"

"I never thought of it that way."

"I know, but it took me a while to figure out why. I thought it was me, at first. I mean every teenaged girl knows what's on a teenaged boy's mind half the time," Gwen said. Her cheeks reddened. "I know I had that on my mind when I invited you over and I told you my dad and brother would be gone for the day. I thought we'd… you know. I'd managed to buy some condoms and everything. And then nothing happened. Then a couple of weeks later, nothing happened again!"

It was Arthur's turn to blush. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks. Lancelot just chuckled.

"So I thought there was something wrong with me," Gwen went on. "Maybe you liked one of the other girls. But you never really looked at them, either. So I realized that maybe you preferred boys. And it wasn't like you could tell everyone, with Uther being, you know,  _Uther_. So when you kept asking me to go out with you, I kept saying yes. I didn't really care for the other boys at school, and you and Morgana were fun to be around."

Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked down again. "If it's been that long, then why didn't you say something?"

Gwen squeezed his arm. "Because it's one thing to know a secret about someone. It's quite another to hear it from that someone. We wanted to hear it from you when you were ready to tell us."

"And all those times when you asked if I'd met someone…?"

"I always said  _someone_. I never asked if you'd met any women," Gwen said. "I was trying to give you an opening, but you never took the bait."

"That's because I'd never met anyone until Merlin," Arthur said. "He was my first… first everything."

"And now this is your first breakup," Gwen said. She snuggled against him. "It's a terrible feeling, isn't it?"

"It's not just that," Arthur shook his head. "It's- I've been dealing with a lot, up here," he tapped his forehead, "and I'm not always rational or… normal or whatever. Because of the war."

"I understand completely," Lance said.

"So there's that, and then Merlin's… He's… He suffers from chronic Depression," Arthur managed to spit out. "He's been suicidal before. I probably shouldn't have told you that, but there it is. Merlin has been feeling low-- really low-- the past couple of weeks, and I don't know what I'm supposed to  _do_  about it. I mean, I can hardly keep myself together some days, and now…" His voice broke again and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep his tears at bay. "We were arguing this morning, and he left, and now I don't know where he is, or what's happened to him, or…"

"Do you have his emergency contact info? His family's numbers? Friends? Flatmates?" Lance asked.

"No," Arthur shook his head, feeling even more like a useless clot. After all this time, he and Merlin should have had this information, but they'd never bothered with it. "I know his mother's name, and his uncle's. Though, Gaius isn't really his uncle, but that doesn't matter. I know his address and his flatmate's name, but I don't have their phone numbers."

"But you know their names and Merlin's address, so that's a start," Gwen said. She bit her lip, the way she always did when she was thinking. "Here's what we'll do. I'm going to order a pizza in, and you're going to eat it. From the way your stomach's growling, I don't think you've eaten for a while. Then you're going to plug your phone in so it can charge, in case Merlin calls. It could be that he just needs some time and space to think things over, and he'll want to talk when he's done thinking."

Arthur opened his mouth to object, but stopped when Lance gave him a barefooted kick on the shin.

"Then you're going to get some sleep and call off work tomorrow. I can work from home, and while I'd doing that, we'll take the information we do know Merlin's friends and family and see what we can come up with. All right?"

There was no arguing with her when she was in a mood like this, so he didn't bother. He charged the phone, ate the pizza, and watched  _Doctor Who_  with them until they went up to bed. Somewhere in the dark hours of the morning, when he was stretched out alone on the couch, he had the sense that Gwen was curled up in the chair, watching over him.

 

* * *

 

Arthur didn't go to work the next morning. Gwen didn't go in, either, but being a computer programmer meant that she could work from home. So she did. And she did laundry, cooked them lunch, and took the dog for a long walk, all of it without breaking a sweat. She made Arthur feel like a complete ass, because he could hardly make it up to the shower when she ordered him upstairs with a pair of Lance's sweatpants and a t-shirt in hand.

They didn't fit very well, but Gwen gave him his own clothes back when the laundry was done, along with a couple of phone numbers- Hunith's and Gaius's.

"Have you heard anything yet?" she asked once he'd changed clothes and took his phone off the charger again.

"No. Only person I've heard from today is Morgana. She's coming home early. Said she'd stay with me tonight," Arthur said. He tried to smile but it felt stiff and forced, like a foreign phrase he couldn't quite pronounce.

"You know you're welcome to stay here if you want," Gwen said. "You don't have to rattle around that big old flat all by yourself."

"I appreciate it, but I've been enough of a bother," Arthur said, waving off her protests before she could make them. "Besides. I'm not so fond of your dog that I want to wake up to him licking my face again."

"Aww. Cabal just knows when it's time for breakfast, don't you?" She reached over to scratch the dog's ears. It leaned into the attention, putting more of its weight on Arthur's feet. They were going to go numb if he didn't move them soon. "It really is no trouble for you to stay if you want. We can run over to your place so you can pack some clothes and your toothbrush, and you can stay as long as you need to."

"It's tempting," he said. And it was. He could let someone else worry about minor tasks involved with living and sink into his own miserable shell. Misery was easy. Happiness was hard, involving back- and heartbreaking amounts of work he wasn't sure he was ready for. And yet some tiny part of him was willing to give it a try. "But there are some things I need to do, and I'd rather do them from home. Thank you, though. For everything."

"I don't know that I'd call two meals and a night on my couch 'everything', but you're welcome."

"It's not just the food and couch," Arthur said. "It's… everything you've put up with for me all these years."

"Well, I can't say that I haven't wanted to throttle you a time or two," Gwen said, "but you brought me Lance. I think that outweighs everything else you might have done."

"That's good news for me, then. Especially in light of whatever mistakes I'm bound to make in the future."

Gwen wrapped her arm around his. "Are there any particular mistakes you have in mind? Maybe we can head them off at the pass."

Arthur took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell my father. This Friday," he said. Saying it aloud-- to Gwen, no less-- made it feel like an unbreakable promise. If he'd been letting her down all this time, then he couldn't keep doing it. He had to tell his father now, or risk her disappointment.

And he had promised Merlin.

"That doesn't sound like a mistake."

"No, but going to Glastonbury to tell him in person might be."

Gwen winced and gave him a skeptical glance. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"If Morgana can face him after everything she's done, then I can, too," Arthur said. "If I just call, he might think it's a bad joke or assume one of those gossip rags is trying to catch him off guard. This is something I have to do in person."

Gwen looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "What do you think he'll do to you?"

"He'll probably disown me," Arthur shrugged. "But if things get out of hand, then at least I can outrun him."

"And there's the Arthur I used to know," Gwen said. Her smile returned and she squeezed his arm. "He's been gone for a while, but I think I caught a glimpse of him just now. Think he'll ever be back for good?"

"I don't know," Arthur said. "Maybe if we're very, very lucky and the planets align, and the star uncross themselves and all that." She smiled up at him, he smiled back, and it almost felt natural. But deep down, he knew the end of the world would come before his old self could find its way back. Arthur had used up all this good luck the day he met Merlin.

 

* * *

 

"Are you telekinetic now?"

"What?" Arthur looked up and across the table to find Morgana staring at him from the other end.

"Your mobile. You said you were going to make a phone call ten minutes ago," Morgana said. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and rested her chin in her hands. "All you've done is stare at it, though. I was just wondering if you'd figured out some flash new way of dialing the numbers. You know, with your mind or something."

"No. I'm just trying to decide if this call really is a good idea."

"Who are you calling?"

"Merlin's mother," Arthur sighed. In the thirty-six hours since Merlin had fled, Arthur hadn't heard a word out of him, or from Will, Hunith, or Gaius. He couldn't help but wonder- if Merlin had hurt himself-- or worse-- would any of them call Arthur to let him know? Or would they blame him and refuse to speak to him ever again? They didn't seem like the vengeful sort, but he had only met them once.

"You'll never know if you don't call," Morgana said. "And if you don't call, I won't get you ice cream."

Arthur rubbed his eyes, resisting the urge to glare at her. "Merlin could be dead for all I know, and you're joking about ice cream?"

Morgana didn't resist the urge to glare. "I'm trying to be your sympathetic sister, but it's getting harder with this endless pity party you're throwing for yourself. You have been through a war. You've faced down people shooting at you. You are braver than this. Now call her before I do it for you."

He looked up at her. Really  _looked_. She was tired. Her makeup was smudged, her hair in disarray, her clothes showing wrinkles only airline seats could cause. Her suitcase had fallen over in the living room, and she had left it where it lay. Morgana had canceled the last few days of her trip and come home early, driving straight to Arthur's flat from Heathrow without bothering to stop at home to change into fresh clothes or wash her face.

She had come all this way for him. The least he could do was not be snide about it.

His shoulders drooped. "All right." He unfolded the paper with Hunith's number Gwen had given him, and dialed. And waited, breathlessly, for it to ring through.

And waited some more while it rang on the other side, in a house that should have been full of cheer far away in Cardiff.

Arthur had heard once that it was polite to let the phone ring eight times before hanging up to give the other person a chance to pick it up. Hunith's rang nine times before the answerphone picked up. He ended the call without leaving a message.

"No one's home."

"I'm sorry," Morgana said. She genuinely looked it, too. The expression was both strange and comforting. "Shall I go and that ice cream, then?"

Arthur's brief laugh might have been a sob. "No. I'm not hungry. I'm just… at a loss. What do I do now? How will I ever know if he's alright?"

"There's nothing I can think of," Morgana said. "You're not married or a blood relation, so you really don't have any legal standing. At least you don't when it comes to contacting hospitals and things like that."

"I know. I've already thought of that."

"Right." Morgana chewed a red-lacquered fingernail. "I hate to sound morbid, but have you checked the obituaries?"

"Yeah. Just before you got here. For London and Cardiff," Arthur said. He didn't mention that he'd checked the death notices from the largest newspapers in England and Wales. And Scotland, too, as though Merlin would head to Inverness because it seemed like a nice, out of the way place for someone to overdose or slice his wrists open. "I didn't find anything."

"That's good."

"For now. Until tomorrow, or the day after, or-" His voice broke. He set his jaw and looked out the window.

He didn't notice that Morgana had left her seat until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "We'll find him. I don't know how yet, but we will. And everything's going to be alright. I promise."

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday morning, Arthur went to work. He spent the day wandering through a mental fog with one eye constantly on his phone, waiting for it to ring or beep or give him any message from Merlin.

Aside from a few texts from Gwen, Morgana, and Lance, the damned thing was silent.

 

* * *

 

He spent Wednesday feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin for lack of news. The obituaries were blissfully free of any mention of Merlin's name, though it didn't quell his uneasiness. His second call to Hunith had gone unanswered, just like the first one, and his imagination ran in a slowly descending spiral. Maybe Hunith screened her calls or didn't answer when she didn't recognize the number. Maybe she knew it was Arthur calling and was avoiding him. Maybe she was at Merlin's hospital bedside, waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for him to come out of a coma. Waiting to hear if he was ever going to open his eyes again.

Maybe she was waiting for Merlin to die.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

He managed to drive himself home without crashing into anyone or anything, going along on autopilot because he could hardly focus on anything.His heart was too full of fear for Merlin, and his head was filled with dread for Friday's encounter with his father.

If he made it to Friday. If his heart didn't give out first for want of news.

And just like that, before he had a chance to loosen his tie or wander into the kitchen, Arthur's phone rang.

It wasn't the ringtone he'd set for Merlin. It was the tone he'd programmed in for strange numbers. He normally didn't answer calls from 'unknown caller', but he made an exception.

"Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, and a shuffle. "Yeah. This is Arthur Pendragon?"

"Yes, it is." Arthur was surprised he could talk, given that his heart had climbed into his throat. "Who is this?"

"It's Will, you git. Merlin's friend."

"Sorry. Yes, of course. We've met." Arthur ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I didn't recognize your voice at first. I'm sorry. How's Merlin?"

Another pause. A really long one. "Meet me at The Blackfriar at nine o'clock."

"What?"

"The Blackfriar Pub," Will repeated slowly, as though he were talking to a particularly stupid child. "The one that's across from Blackfriar Station. Nine o'clock tonight. Did you understand that?"

"Yes, I understood," Arthur rolled his eyes. "But how is Merlin?"

Will hung up before Arthur even finished the question. He resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room, then gently set it on the table.

It was six-thirty. If he hurried he could get a shower, put on some different clothes, and get to the pub in time to eat something before Will showed up.  _'I shouldn't drive. Just in case.'_ If Arthur's darkest fears about Merlin were confirmed, he'd end the day by getting blind drunk and getting a cab home. No need to be completely stupid, get behind the wheel, and kill someone else.

He had to contain the damage. That was the best he could do.

 

* * *

 

Will found him at the pub two minutes before nine, at a table as far out of the way as was possible in the oddly-shaped building. Arthur was staring down his second pint and doing his best to ignore the raucous Germans at a nearby table. They had a right to celebrate whatever was making them happy, but with his dour state of mind, Arthur just wanted to sit in the quiet.

The soft  _thwip_  of a coaster followed by the  _thunk_  of glass against wood brought Arthur out of his reverie. Will all but collapsed in the chair across from him and ran a hand over his face before downing a third of his pint in one go. He rested his elbows on the table and studied Arthur like he was some strange insect he'd stepped on and was trying to identify.

Arthur studied him, too. Heavy shadows lay under Will's eyes, and his lips were pressed into a hard, white line. His hair was mussed like he hadn't combed it for a week, and a few days' worth of stubble dirtied his cheeks.

"What happened?" Will asked.

"Last weekend?" Arthur asked. Will nodded, his eyes hard.

"We went up to Camden to go book shopping. It's not my favorite thing to do, but it's what Merlin wanted. It started raining, so we went to a coffee shop to wait it out. Hadn't been there but a few minutes when my friend Gwaine showed up-- he lives in the Camden area and happened to see us in the window. So he came in and just sat down. Probably figured I wouldn't mind. He's like that, Gwaine is. Annoying as hell sometimes, but he's a good man."

"Good for him," Will said. He hadn't moved; he was still as stone and just as unreadable. "What'd you do?"

Arthur thought back over the conversation, trying to extract the salient points while resisting the urge to reach across the table to shake the answers he wanted out of Will. "I didn't acknowledge Merlin. Not as my boyfriend. I just introduced him as a friend, and… I haven't kept my promise to him. At least, I hadn't as of last weekend. I've started to. Told a couple of friends on Sunday, but I haven't seen anyone else since then, really. I'm going out to Glastonbury on Friday. To tell my father." He was babbling. He took a drink of beer to shut himself up.

"Why are you waiting until Friday? Why not tell him tonight? Why didn't you tell him on Sunday?"

_'Because I was a wreck on Sunday. Because I spent half the night wondering if I was going to throw myself off a bridge. Because I haven't gotten much better since then.'_  "Because that's when my sister and I always go see our father. He makes a point of getting out of London on the weekends, and if there's going to be some sort of spectacle, I'd rather the police not get called."

"I thought you worked with him on government stuff?"

"A bit. Less now than before. A lot less. I've hardly seen him in the past few months," Arthur said. "Why are you asking me all this?"

"I'm trying to figure you out. Merlin was all excited about you for so long. Would've thought you were Christmas morning and sliced bread all rolled up in a shiny golden package with the way he went on about you." The lines of Will's face softened for a moment before hardening again. "But you're not the first rich bloke to get him all wound up before."

"So, what? You think that I'm like the other guy because I happen to have money? You think we're all alike? What do you even know about me?"

"Just what Merlin told me. It's why I'm here, trying to figure you out." Will's demeanor cooled even more, hovering just above Absolute Zero. "Because when Merlin came home on Sunday, they way he was acting reminded me of the other guy. The guy who wined and dined a naive art student because he thought it was a fashionable thing to do. And when he decided that it wasn't so stylish anymore, he tossed Merlin out like last season's clothes." Will's fingers tightened around his pint glass.

"Next thing I know," he continued, "I'd come home early from class, and Merlin was in the bathtub with his wrists slashed open, and I spent the next ten minutes keeping him from bleeding to death before the paramedics got there. And then I had to call his mum and tell her what happened, and wait for her to get there, and then we had to wait for him to get out of surgery. So don't fucking tell me I don't know anything, because you're shaping up to be just like that other guy."

"I'm not him," Arthur said faintly, his stomach churning. Some morbid part of his imagination had always pictured that scene-- Merlin bleeding out in a bathtub, or lying pale and half-dead in hospital-- but hearing Will describe it made it worse.

"You could've fooled me."

Arthur opened his mouth to refute Will's claims, to try to prove himself a better man than the other bloke, but he couldn't. Because maybe he wasn't a better man after all. Maybe he was just a case of history repeating itself. "How- how is he?" Arthur's voice was just above a whisper, hardly rising above the noise of the pub. "I've been trying to call and text."

"I've noticed," Will said. He rubbed his eyes.

"Just- please. Tell me what's happened, one way or the other. This not knowing if he's alright or not- it's going to drive me insane." Arthur was ready to get down on his knees and beg if he had to. "Please, Will. How is Merlin?"

Will took a long drink, nearly finishing it before he looked up at Arthur again and studied him some more. Maybe he was milking the moment and Arthur's misery for all it was worth. Or he might have been figuring out how to break the bad news. Arthur didn't hold out much hope that he was about to get any bit of good news.

"Merlin-" Will cut himself off, turned about, and approached the answer from a different angle. "He's with his mum. He was a complete, fucking wreck on Sunday. He was hardly making any sense, couldn't drag himself off the couch for anything. So Monday morning, we took the earliest train out to Cardiff. Got him calmed down, took him to a couple of doctors. He's been sleeping a lot." Will shrugged and drained the last of his beer. "I just got back this afternoon. Don't know what happens next."

Arthur had sagged with relief at the first instance of 'Merlin' and 'is' occurring in the same sentence. Merlin was alive. Not well by any means, but he was alive and that meant he could recover and keep on being alive for a long, long time. "This is all my fault."

"Maybe, maybe not," Will said. He idly spun his empty pint glass around and around. He'd gone from angry and icy to exhausted in the span of a minute. "He's been fighting this for ages now, since school. Got worse after what happened to Freya. Sometimes it's better, sometimes… it's not."

"What happened to Freya?" Arthur said, suddenly curious. "He told me they went to Italy together and got on the wrong train, and that was the end of the trip. I've never met her."

"You never will," Will said flatly. "Freya's dead. They were attacked on the way back to the train station the next day. She died that night. Merlin spent a week and a half in hospital in Milan. He missed her funeral and everything. In case you were wondering where all those scars came from."

"Jesus," Arthur breathed. "Did they find whoever did it?"

"No. Merlin doesn't really remember what happened. Weren't a lot of clues to go on. They were just a couple of kids out for an adventure and ran into the wrong people." Will shoulders were hunched, his head bowed. Arthur knew he'd parted from Merlin and Freya just days before Italy. Maybe he blamed himself for what happened. If he'd stayed with them, maybe Freya would still be alive.

Arthur knew the feeling, knew how such guilt like clung to the soul and was never really washed clean. He carried his own demons around; Afghanistan did that to people.

"Look, I'm really fucking tired, and I have to work tomorrow," Will said, straightening suddenly. "I met you here so I could figure out if I needed to contact people to keep Merlin safe from you. He's had a hard enough life without some crazy bloke trying to get at him. It's what I do. And I do it because of what he's been through." He flicked a business card on the table in front of Arthur. "That's my number. You want to know about Merlin, you contact me. Because if I hear you've been harassing him or Hunith or Gaius, I will get in touch with my people, and you will never see him again."

Arthur stared down at the little card and nodded. Will's spiel sounded weirdly reasonable. "Why'd you agree to meet in in the first place, then? Why not just whisk Merlin away to start with?"

"Because he needed his mother," Will said. "And because when I called you, the only thing you asked about Merlin was  _how_  he was, not where. I suppose that makes you a bit different from the other guy. I'll see you around, Pendragon." Will stood and straightened his coat, then walked out of the pub without giving Arthur a second glance.


	11. Chapter 11

_“The feeling is less like an ending than just another starting point.”  
_ -Chuck Palahniuk

 

* * *

 

The things one dreads the most always arrive the fastest. Friday evening was one of those things. Arthur left work early, packed an overnight bag, and drove off into the sunset. He spent every minute of the three hour journey to Glastonbury rehearsing what he was going to say to Uther, planning, editing, tossing out bits and adding others in, and then getting rid of it to start from scratch when he was twenty miles out. He’d started all over again five miles from the house, and by the time he pulled into the wide, arched driveway and parked, he had nothing at all.

‘You can do this,’ Arthur told himself. But his hands were reluctant to pull the keys out of the ignition or open the door. He stared down at his fingers on the door handle. They were shaking. He was shaking, and it was going to take more than a few deep breaths to stop it.

_‘You made a promise,’_ he told himself. _‘And it doesn’t matter if you never see Merlin again. A promise is a promise.’_

Ages passed before he made it out of the car, his knees and back creaking in protest. He left his bag in the car. He wasn’t going to stay, even if Uther allowed it. That seemed unlikely. Arthur was probably going to walk out of this house tonight for the last time ever.

He couldn’t tell if some of his shaking was from relief at the thought of this all being over with. After all these years, he’d finally be free.

But first, he had to run the gauntlet.

The doors were heavier than he remembered, the entryway darker. The whole house was gloomy in the way that old houses were when their owners refused to open the windows, let light in, and change with the times. The decor here hadn’t been updated since the 1950s. Just like its owner.

He trudged down the long hall, smiling at the housekeeper as he headed toward the library where Uther surely was, drinking a glass of bourbon and studying some dusty old tome like he always did after dinner. And indeed, there was a light under the door. Arthur knocked and went in without waiting for a response. “Father?”

Uther looked up from his book. His eyes widened marginally. It was as much of a show of surprise that Arthur had ever seen out of him. “Arthur. I thought you had forgotten that Glastonbury existed. That’s how it was beginning to seem, anyway. You haven’t been here since, what, February? I know the weather this winter wasn’t the best, but it is the middle of spring. Surely you and your sister aren’t too busy to respect your father.”

“It’s not about respect,” Arthur said. “We have our own lives to live.”

“Neither of you is married, neither of you have children,” Uther said. He sipped his bourbon and set it back on the end table, marked his page, and put the book aside. “You both have a distinct lack of personal responsibilities to see to, so I fail to understand why you’ve both suddenly stopped coming here for the weekends. Is family not important to you?”

“Of course it is,” Arthur said. His fingers spasmed into a fist at the insinuation that he didn’t care about Morgana. “But we have our own lives, and jobs that keep us both busy. If you want to see us on a regular basis, then maybe we could arrange to have dinner in London. Asking us to come all the way out here, every weekend is a bit much. But-” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“If maintaining ties with your father isn’t a good enough reason, then why are you here?” Uther settled back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

Arthur let out a long breath. “I have something to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I think you’ll figure that out.”

Uther gestured toward the chair across from himself. “Have a seat, then, and tell me this secret of yours that you’ve been so reluctant to tell me.” He smiled suddenly. The expression looked strange on Uther’s face. “Is it about a girl? Have you finally met someone, and you’ve been worried about bringing her here to meet me?”

Arthur declined the offered seat. “It’s not about a woman. It’s never been about a woman, and it never will be.”

“What do you mean?”

Uther looked so genuinely baffled that Arthur almost laughed. Despite all this time, when Arthur had never dated a woman or even expressed an interest in one, it seemed that Uther hadn’t even considered the possibilities. “I’m gay, father. I prefer men, not women. I always have, despite everything you’ve ever said about homosexuality being sinful or a perversion against the natural order.”

“I don’t understand,” Uther said, blinking slowly, his face blank. “Why would you say such a thing? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Why would I joke about this? What purpose would that serve?” Arthur spread his arms away from his body, palms facing outward. “You are not a man to joke with. This isn’t a game I’m playing at. I’m a gay man. I can’t change that. I don’t want to.”

“What point are you trying to make, Arthur? Is this your way of rebelling? I thought your little stint in the military was your way of working it out of your system,” Uther said. Arthur couldn’t decide if his father was being willfully obtuse, or if he just wasn’t listening. “Or have you decided to try something new? If that’s the case, you can stop it this instant. I won’t have such degeneracy in my house.”

“This isn’t my way of rebelling, and it’s not some kind of phase or lifestyle choice I’ve made.” Arthur put his hands on his hips. “I’m gay. I always have been, and I always will be. And if you can’t accept that, then…then that’s your own problem. I’ve spent my life ‘until now trying to be what you wanted me to be. To make you proud. But it was never enough for you. I’m tired of trying to be something I’m not.”

Uther’s knuckles went white around the glass. “Is there some... man who’s put you up to this? Someone who’s filled your head with ideas?”

For one dark moment, Arthur was heart-wrenchingly glad that Merlin had left, that Merlin was probably gone from his life for good, if only so he could tell Uther this one true thing: “No. There’s no one. I’m not seeing anyone. There’s no one for you to try to blackmail. Just me telling you the truth at last.”

Uther grabbed the arms of his chair and pushed himself upright. Arthur forced himself to stand still, to hold his ground. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Arthur almost laughed out of sheer frustration. “It’s not about you. For once, Father, it’s not about you. Everything in my life-- and Morgana’s-- until now has revolved around you, and trying to please you. I can’t do it anymore. If you can’t accept me as I am, then I guess we’re finished.” He turned away.

“Arthur.”

“Good-bye.” The door clicked shut behind him, and Arthur headed down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. Faster than Uther’s reactions, apparently. The library door squeaked open again.

“Arthur, come back here at once!”

He refused to turn around. He kept walking, and when his hand landed on the front door, he shoved it open, staring straight ahead until he reached his car. If Uther followed him out, Arthur never knew. He kept his eyes on the road until he was out of sight of the old manor house, then  turned off the road and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He got out of the car.

Outside, it was an ordinary spring night. The clouds had disappeared, leaving a glittering sky behind. A car passed by on the main road, the growl of the engine interrupting the quiet before fading away, leaving Arthur alone in the darkness. He shivered, but the cool air didn’t bother him. It felt good. Clean. Like it was blowing away all the fear and doubt he’d been dragging along for half his life, leaving behind… something. He wasn’t sure if peace was the right word, but it came as close as anything else he’d encountered through the years.

“I’m sorry I waited so long,” he told the air, wishing that Merlin was there to celebrate the moment with him.

His phone buzzed. Uther was calling. Arthur let it go to voicemail; he’d delete the message later. Surely Uther wouldn’t have anything good to say, wouldn’t have come to any shining epiphany about the error of his ways in the fifteen minutes since Arthur had left. If he had anything left to say to his father, Arthur would do it later, when emotions weren’t running so high. He didn’t want to ruin this evening.

Arthur leaned against the car door and stared up, watching the stars go by. A massive weight seemed to have been lifted away from his shoulders. He could stand tall now. He could breathe freely. _‘Why did I wait so long?’_

 

* * *

 

_“I take it you’re still in one piece?”_ The teasing tone in Morgana’s voice couldn’t quite hide her concern, even over the phone.

“Yes, I’m in one piece,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Though I decided not to stay in Glastonbury. Just in case. Didn’t want there to be an incident. I’m sure I’ll end up in the papers soon enough, and I’d rather it not be because I got in a fist fight with Uther.”  He’d stopped in Weston for the night. His first plan had been to stay in a hotel in Cardiff, but he’d decided the temptation to go to Hunith’s to try to see Merlin might be too overwhelming for him to stay away.

_“How did it go? Was he terribly upset?”_

“He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it at first, I don’t think. Kept asking if it was a joke, and why I would say something like that,” Arthur said. He sat back against the pillows and set a book on the bed beside him, brushing his fingers over the cover. Merlin had done the same thing when Arthur bought the book for him, and while Arthur couldn’t conjure the same love for da Vinci’s writings, he could touch the pages that Merlin had touched and pretend there was still a physical connection. “It ended up being a lot easier than I thought it would be. I should have done it ages ago.”

_“Yes, you should have,_ ” Morgana said. Arthur could imagine the glare she was leveling at him from London. “ _But now that you have, how do you feel?”_

He thought about it for a moment, trying to decipher everything that was in his head, and the rest of what was in his heart. How could he put all of it into mere words? “Good. Better. Like I was walking around with weights on my chest all this time, and now that they’re gone I can actually breathe. Like I can finally go and live my life under my own terms.”

_“Is that all?”_ Morgana chuckled, then sobered. _“Are you sure this little trip to Cardiff is a good idea? You could be setting yourself up for a good deal of heartache, you know.”_

“I don’t think anything could help with that,” Arthur said. “But he left his books behind, and some of his art supplies. He’ll be wanting them back, I’m sure. And I want to tell him that I finally kept my promise. That I’m out and… the world didn’t end. Or I’ll tell his mum. Or the front door, if no one answers when I ring.”

_“You know, I can almost picture you standing out there under Merlin’s window with a radio blasting some asinine love song. Like the guy in the movie.”_

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arthur said. “But I have no plans to serenade Merlin with a radio. I’m going to his mother’s house to drop Merlin’s things off. And then I’m going to leave. I’ll be there for five minutes at the most.”

_“I’m sure.”_ Morgana sounded doubtful. _“When do you think you’ll be back in London? We could go out for dinner to celebrate your coming out. Or the fact that you survived Uther’s wrath. Whichever sounds like more fun.”_

“I’m not sure when I’ll leave here. I think I’ll sleep in, if I can. I’ll text you before I leave Cardiff.”

_“Alright, then. Be safe. And try not to be too much of an idiot when you get to Hunith’s,_ ” Morgana said, her tone teasing before it turned serious. _“I really am proud of you, Arthur.”_

Arthur grinned. “A rare compliment!”

_“I think you’ve earned one. Just one, mind you. Don’t get a big head just because I said something nice to you.”_

“I’ll try to keep my ego in check,” Arthur said drily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

_“Rain or shine. Good night.”_

He hit ‘end’ and tossed the phone aside, rolling to his feet with the book clutched to his chest. The sound of the waves far below was strong enough to wash through his mind and clear away the clutter of idle thoughts circling around and around. He opened the window, despite the chill breeze.

He had chosen this hotel partly because of the view. Bristol Channel wasn’t the kind of waterway that set young hearts to racing-- it wasn’t an ocean or a sea, after all.

But Cardiff was on the other side, and Arthur could imagine that the far off glint of moonlight on the dark waters was actually city lights glimmering warmly on the other side of the channel. He could let himself believe that the distance between them wasn’t insurmountable, and that they were closer than they seemed.

 

* * *

 

The sun was shining over Cardiff when Arthur pulled into a parking space near Hunith’s house. It was one of those perfect spring days that demanded picnics and kite-flying; a day that should have marked the beginning of a relationship, not the end of one. But Arthur couldn’t see a way around it. In the six days since he had fled Arthur’s flat, Merlin hadn’t returned a single one of his calls or texts, or made any sign that he had changed his mind and wanted to reverse the words he’d said- ‘ _I can’t do this anymore’._

This was the end, and he might as well get out of the car, return Merlin’s things, and get it all over with. If coming out to Uther had made him feel light as air, then perhaps going through with this final act would dull the ache in his chest. He doubted it would.

Arthur’s hand hesitated over the doorbell. If he pushed it, it was one little step closer to the end. He couldn’t turn away and put this off if he rang the bell. Then he twitched and hit it, and there was no turning back.

His breath caught when Hunith answered the door, opening it just wide enough to see who it was. She shifted her weight like she was wedging her foot behind the door to keep Arthur from pushing his way in. “Hello, Arthur.”

“Hi. I, um… Did Will tell you I was coming?”

“He did, yes,” Hunith said. She rested her head against the door jamb, and suddenly looked so terribly tired in the sunlight, like everyone else involved in this process. Will, Gwen and Lance, Morgana, and now Hunith. All of them worn out by their break-up and break-downs. If this was the normal fallout from the death of a relationship, Arthur wondered how anyone made it through at all. “You didn’t have to come all this way just to drop a few things off,” Hunith said.

“I didn’t actually come that horribly far,” Arthur said, giving her a nervous smile. “I went to Glastonbury last night to see my father. I finally told him the truth about myself. Came out. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Oh?” Worry flashed through her eyes, and he could guess why.

“I didn’t say anything about Merlin,” he reassured her. “My father asked if I was seeing someone, and I told him no.” Arthur swallowed back the knot in his throat and locked his jaw.

“Arthur…” Hunith brushed a hand over her eyes. “None of this was your fault, you know.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. There were things you could have done differently. There were things we all could have done differently.” She smile sadly. “You made him as happy as I’d ever seen him, and I’m grateful to you for that. You can’t blame yourself for the rest of it. Not all of it. He’s been fighting this battle for a long time.” Hunith looked over her shoulder toward the stairs, her mind obviously on Merlin. She sighed, and her grip on the door relaxed. “Do you want to come in for a bit? I could make some tea.”

“No. Thank you, but no,” Arthur said shakily, unsure about whether he was going to laugh for joy at the invitation, or cry because he had to turn it down. “I can’t stay. I’m meeting my sister in London later. And I left the car running. I just wanted to give Merlin his things back. I’d give them to Will, but I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

“He doesn’t,” Hunith said. “But he’s very protective of Merlin.Like the big brother he never had.”

“I’d noticed,” Arthur said. He held up the bag of Merlin’s things-- the vintage da Vinci notebooks he’d bought Merlin just a week ago; a handful of pencils that had wandered into unlikely spots in Arthur’s flat; a paintbrush he’d found under the bed. Two tubes of oil paint. He’d been reluctant to part when them, if only because the colors-- French ultramarine and lamp black-- reminded him of Merlin’s eyes and hair. “Anyway. He left these in my flat. He’ll want them back, I’m sure. He’s always on about how much supplies cost.”

Arthur had kept one of the pencils. It had been moved to a place of honor next to the photograph of Gwen and Lance on their wedding day.

“I’ve heard him say that, too,” she said, hugging the bag to her chest. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? I made some biscuits yesterday.”

That pulled a laugh from Arthur’s aching chest. “Thank you, but, no. I’m alright. Really. But, uh, If you would- if he- if anything happens, or if there’s anything I can do for any of you, just let me know. Please. It wouldn’t be any trouble,” he said and handed her a slip of paper with his name, address, and phone number written on it. “I was a big part of the problem, and if I can be part of the solution in anyway don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Arthur. That’s very sweet of you.”

Arthur gave her a tight smile and nodded. “He made me happy. Happier than I’d ever been before. As long as he’s still around, somewhere, I…” he couldn’t go on.

“I understand. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I, uh, I should get going. Thank you for… everything, I suppose. Give him my best, would you?”

“I will,” Hunith’s smile was genuine this time. “Good-bye, Arthur.”

He smiled as best he could. “Good-bye.”

Hunith closed the door once he’d cleared the front steps, so she didn’t see Arthur stop and turn back to look up at the Merlin’s window. The curtains were drawn, and thought he thought he could stand there the rest of the day and wait for them to open and reveal Merlin standing behind them, they didn’t so much as twitch.

Arthur’s eyes were wet when he made it back to the car, and for once he didn’t mind the cloudless skies. They gave him a reason to put his sunglasses on and leave them on for the entire drive home. With his eyes hidden, no one could see how his heart was breaking.

No one, that is, until he walked into his flat to find Morgana waiting for him. Once he took the sunglasses off and looked into her eyes and found nothing but sympathy and understanding there, he couldn’t hold himself together anymore. Lucky for him, his big sister was strong enough for the both of them, wrapping her arms around him so tightly he felt like he could break down without falling apart completely.

“It’s over,” he whispered later. Much later, when the shadows were lengthening on the walls and Morgana was curled up and half-asleep in the chair. Arthur cleared his throat and found his voice again, repeating the declaration loudly enough that both of them could hear it. He needed to hear himself. He needed to say it aloud to make it real. “It’s over.”

 

* * *

 

The next two weeks passed in a fog. Arthur went through his days on autopilot, performing the basic actions by rote. Work took effort. He didn’t bother to drive there and back again, just taking the Underground because it didn’t take so much thought, though he did miss his stop a time or three because his mind would wander off and not return until he was four stations or more away from where he needed to be. He ate and slept, watched television and showered, and generally survived.

Morgana practically moved in with him, showing up on his doorstep every night with groceries-- or takeaway Chinese, Indian, or whatever caught her eye that night-- and DVDs or board games. Sometimes Gwen and Lance would be with her, and there were a few nights where it was just Gwen or just Lance, and slowly, things got better.

His chest stopped aching, and the fog cleared from his mind. He started going out again- to dinner with Morgana, out running with Lance when weather warmed up, for drinks with the men from his unit. He’d come out to them all one night at the beginning of May. Their responses ran the gamut from Gwaine’s, _‘Of course you are. Could you have been more obvious about it?’_ to Percival’s _‘Does this mean you can order those froofy drinks now?’_

Arthur had responded to that by ordering a round of the brightest, most colorful drinks on the menu, complete with little paper umbrellas. He should have trusted them to be more open-minded. He’d trusted them with his life, after all. What was one stupid secret compared to that?

The sordid tale of his hidden homosexuality broke in exactly one gossip rag-- a two paragraph notice buried on page eleven next to an advertisement for shoes. The story of Arthur’s estrangement from his father wasn’t as much of a draw as celebrity woes, footballers’ wives, or even the political showdown between Uther and Alvarr.

Arthur was an afterthought to them, and he preferred it that way. No spotlights, no photographers waiting outside his flat, and no more having to drive out to Glastonbury for the weekend. Just Morgana and his friends helping to put him back together again. It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t painless, but it grew easier with time.

 

* * *

 

The worst part of it all was dealing with the memories. They would strike at odd times, flashing through his mind like a bomb and leaving him breathless with guilt and longing. He slept in the guest bedroom for the first three days because his pillows still smelled like Merlin, and he couldn’t bear to wash it away any more than he could bear to sleep surrounded by it. The pencil on the bedroom shelf reminded him of the mornings he would awaken to the scritching of graphite on paper as Merlin drew him.

Something would brush against his shoulder, and he’d remember how Merlin liked to drag a paintbrush up and down Arthur’s spine, just to see him shiver. Or he would be in the shower, and suddenly he would think of all those times it had been the two of them standing under the water, and how he would trace the lines of Merlin’s dragon tattoo with his fingers or the tip of his tongue.

He couldn’t escape the memories. Merlin’s face under soft gallery lighting. The cocoa on Merlin’s lips on their first night together. Merlin asleep his arms, warm and relaxed and perfectly trusting. Coffee and scones on rainy Sunday mornings, the drawn-out pleasures of sex on dark winter nights, and the thousand other things that reminded Arthur of what he’d had, and of what he had lost.

Merlin didn’t call or text, but neither did Arthur. He liked to imagine Merlin sitting on his bed in Cardiff, phone in hand, trying to come up with the perfect message, and then abandoning the project when words failed to convey everything he was feeling. He like to think of Merlin like that, because it was the same position that Arthur found himself in. Nightly, at first, but as the weeks stretched out, it became every other night, then every three days, and then weekly. Someday he might stop trying to come up with the perfect message altogether.

And what then? Would that mean he was over Merlin? That he’d moved on?

It was an unsettling thought, because deep down, Arthur didn’t want to recover if recovery meant leaving Merlin’s laugh behind, or letting his smile fade from memory.

He received a lonely message from Hunith near the end of May, a voicemail that came in while Arthur was stuck in another boring meeting.

_‘Hello, Arthur. It’s Hunith. Merlin’s mum. I just wanted to call and let you know how things are, since I don’t think we’ve spoken since you stopped by the house last month. Thank you again for bringing those books and paints back. Merlin appreciated it. Anyway. He’s begun a new course of meds. They replaced an old medication with a newer one. It will take a few weeks to see if it works, but so far, so good. He’s painting again, and sometimes I can tell he’s thinking of you. I hope things are going well for you, and that you haven’t had too hard a time dealing with your father. I ought to get going now. Be well, Arthur. Good-bye’_

Arthur listened to the message three times through, and twice more when he got home that night. Tears welled up every time he got to the phrase, ‘ _... he’s thinking of you…’_.

He finally found the strength to delete the message in the first week of June.

 

* * *

 

Morgana’s birthday was near the end of June. They celebrated it at a trendy club in Shoreditch, the kind that was packed with loud music and beautiful people. It was nearing midnight when Arthur noticed an elegant brunet looking him up and down. He managed to smile back at the man, but it didn’t get any further than that.

A not-quite-drunk Morgana draped her arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “I didn’t miss that little look you two shared. Is my poor little brother finally ready to get back out there again? Just for a bit of flirting? Or do you want to take him home with you tonight?”

“None of the above,” he said firmly. “If I’m taking anyone home, it’ll be you, since you’re well on your way to being too pissed to stand up straight.”

“I can stand up perfectly well,” Morgana said archly. “And I can walk and talk and chew gum, all at the same time. And I’m going to go and do all of that over there. With Gwen. You should think about asking that lovely man out. You can’t pine for Merlin forever.” She only wavered a little as she strutted away.

Arthur sighed. Morgana was right, though. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life nursing a broken heart. But he didn’t talk to the elegant brunet, either.

 

* * *

 

By the time July rolled around, Arthur felt like he could call himself healthy again, both physically and mentally. His therapist didn’t quite agree with that assessment, but she didn’t begrudge Arthur his good moods. He hadn’t had a panic attack for over a month, and he could walk down the street without constantly scanning for threats, the knob on his hyper-awareness having been dialed down a few notches. He could go out for drinks, socialize on the weekends, and do all the things he’d been missing out on when his PTSD-- as the official diagnosis was-- had been at its worst.

That wasn’t to say that it was gone, but it was getting better.

Everything was getting better.

There were still days when he just wanted to stay at home. Morgana, Gwen, and all the boys had spent the last several weeks dragging him around the city, from theater to pub to club and back again, like they were making up for all the time they’d missed when his problems-- and his relationship with Merlin-- had kept him at home. But a body could only put up with so much, and he’d made them promise to leave him alone this weekend so he could could sleep in and enjoy a day without plans.

Which was why he was so irritated when the doorbell rang at ten in the morning. He wasn’t even dressed for the day yet. Not that Morgana would be put off by his bare feet and pajamas.

“Morgana,” he growled. “This had better be an emergency. You said you’d leave me alone this weekend. Just one weekend. That’s all I asked for,” he called through the door as he reached for the knob and opened it.

It wasn’t Morgana on the other side.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed.

“Hi.” Merlin bit his lip and took a hesitant half-step back. “I, uh, I can come back if now’s not a good time…”

“No!” Arthur barely kept himself from shouting. “No. Now’s fine. It’s just that Morgana and everyone, they’ve been dragging me out with them every weekend for a while now, and, well, it’s getting a little tiring. I made them promise to leave me alone this weekend. I’m not nineteen anymore, after all.” He shuffled his feet and tried to think of something to do with his hands. They felt awkward, hanging there at his sides. “How have you been? You- you look good.”

“So you do,” Merlin grinned. He did look good. The gauntness had left his face, and and the sparkle was back in his eyes. He was still thin as a rake, but it was the sort of slimness that some people were blessed with, not the skin-and-bones lankiness that spoke of illness. “I’ve been doing alright. The new meds are helping. Amazing what a couple of pills can do for you, huh?”

“I suppose, yeah.”

Merlin shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, I don’t mean to be a bother, and I’m not planning to stay for long. You’ve got things to do, I’m sure. I just- I wanted to apologize. For April. And everything else. I- You didn’t deserve all that shit I up and dropped on you. If I’d had any sense at all, I’d have noticed what was going on in my head, but, well, I can be an idiot sometimes. And I’m sorry. You deserve better than what I gave you.”

“Merlin.... What happened in April,” Arthur shrugged as he searched for the right words. He couldn’t look Merlin in the eye, so he settled for staring at his shoes. One of them was untied. “I made a promise that I didn’t keep. I put a lot of pressure on you to keep us hidden from everyone, and that’s too much to ask of anyone. And toward the end, I could see something was wrong, but… I didn’t do anything about it. I should have. And I’m sorry for that. You were far better than I deserved.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute or two. The birdsong and traffic outside suddenly seemed louder than normal. Then Merlin cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Look at us standing here, pouring our hearts out like we’re a couple of emo kids in a movie. Seriously, though. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were. We didn’t part on the best of terms, and… I kept thinking that I should phone or something. To see how you were. And then I’d start to dial your number and realize I had no idea what to say, and I’d stop, and just… didn’t start again.”

“I did the same thing,” Arthur admitted with a smile. “Nothing ever made sense or sounded right, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,”  Merlin said. He looked away, his eyes roving along the wall like he was trying to to find some hidden message there. “Mum said you came out to your father. How was that?”

“Oh, that,” Arthur chuckled, then sighed. “I’m happy to say I survived the encounter. It’s weird, though, to hear myself being referred to as ‘Uther Pendragon’s estranged son’ every time the subject’s brought up by the press. I haven’t been disinherited yet, so maybe he and I will just have to deal with not seeing each other. Ever.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault he is the way he is.” Arthur grinned and caught Merlin’s eye. “Besides. Things are better now that I’ve come out. I should have done it a long time ago.”

“That’s good,” Merlin said. “Glad to hear you’re happy. You deserve it. Are, uh, are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. “There’s- no. I’m not seeing anyone.” He didn’t miss the faint spark of hope that ignited in Merlin’s eyes. “What about you?”

“Me? Nooo. I just got back to London a few weeks ago. I’ve been trying to mend a lot of fences. You weren’t the only one I walked out on. I mean, there were galleries and a couple of clients, and, well, they chalked it up to me being the sensitive artist-type, so I haven’t lost my career, at least. But I burned a lot bridges back in April.”

“Lucky thing that I have a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, then,” Arthur said without thinking about it. “That was just a lousy joke, but…”

“But what?”

Arthur realized he was shaking, nervous, just like he’d been when he had called Merlin for the very first time, and again when they’d met for their first date last autumn. It felt like it had been another lifetime ago. “It’s just… putting out burning bridges. You have to rebuild them, yeah? Or how do you get over the river again?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Uhm.” Arthur licked his lips and paused to search for the right words, then stopped and let his heart overtake his brain. “Let’s start over again. Can we? Start from scratch, like we’re different people or something like that? Because last Spring, neither of us was well and I was too stupid to try to change that about me, and I think I was falling in love with you, and-” he stopped, his eyes wide, stomach churning, his knees going rubbery with anxiety.

Merlin was staring at him like he was some strange creature that had fallen out of the sky, and Arthur immediately regretted the outburst, because now he looked like a lovelorn idiot, and how could a fool like him ever get back an angel like Merlin?

Then Merlin smiled and reached out a hand for Arthur to shake. “Hi. I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Arthur took his hand and shook it firmly. “Hello, Merlin. My name’s Arthur. Would you like to come in for some tea? No strings attached, of course. It’s just tea. Nothing fancy.”

“I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”

“Come in, then,” Arthur said as he stepped aside to make room for Merlin. “Have a seat, or just head to the kitchen. It’s just down that way. I’ll put the kettle on in a bit.”

“I think I can find my way,” Merlin as he stepped inside, kicked his shoes off, and took Arthur’s hand. “Can I be so bold?”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Arthur said, both unwilling and unable to keep the stupid grin off his face as he led Merlin into the kitchen and put the kettle on. And they talked, the way long lost friends might, or new friends testing out a nascent relationship, probing the ground ahead for pitfalls that weren’t actually there. Time passed them by, turning from morning to afternoon to night, and neither of them cared. Because they were there together, and because there was a time and a place for everything. Even second chances.

 

 


	12. Epilogue

_“It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”_   
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez[  
](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13450.Gabriel_Garc_a_M_rquez)

* * *

 

“Are you two coming or not?” Lance’s voice betrayed a hint of irritation from the other side of the door.

Arthur moved to open it, but Merlin’s hands snaked around his waist and pulled him to a halt. “Not yet,” he breathed in Arthur’s ear, “but keep that door closed and give me ten minutes, and you’ll certainly be coming.”

A laugh escaped Arthur’s lips before he could stop it, loud enough for Lancelot to hear in the hallway. “Oh, god. I phrased that all wrong,” Lance said. “I don’t want to know what you two are doing in there, but if you’re not ready to go in the next few minutes, Morgana is going to have all our heads on a platter. She’s been telling us how she had to get these reservations two months ago, and if we’re a minute late…” he trailed off to let their imaginations do the rest.

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur said. “Sharp knives, silver platters. I get it. We’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

“One minute. I’ll be counting,” Lance said. Arthur heard his feet thudding down the stairs.

“You’re sure you want to go?” Merlin asked. “We could let them go on without us, stay in, have lots of sex in the shower.” He tightened his hold on Arthur’s waist and brushed his lips against his neck, sending chills down Arthur’s spine.

“Yes, I’m sure I want to go. It is my birthday dinner, after all, and Morgana’s been talking this place up for ages,” Arthur said. He turned around to face Merlin and planted a kiss on his lips. “You’re the one who told me how birthdays are important, and that we should celebrate them and all that.”

“Your birthday was over two weeks ago.”

“Morgana couldn’t get reservations for earlier than tonight, and if you deny her this little party, then neither of us is going to hear the end of it,” Arthur said. He stepped back and held Merlin at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “Besides. I like seeing you in a suit.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but grinned anyway. He did look good. Better than good. He looked marvelous, amazing, and all kinds of sexy all at once, and it took more willpower than Arthur cared to think about for him to keep his hands off Merlin. Tailored suits were wonderful things.

“Though I think I’ll prefer to see you out of it later on,” Arthur said as he took Merlin’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “But first, dinner. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Merlin huffed.

“Well, now at least we know how long it takes to tie a tie crookedly.” Morgana shot Arthur a glare as she reached past him to straighten Merlin’s tie. “Why is it that there’s always something about you that’s just a little bit scruffy, Merlin?” Morgana, by contrast, was polished and perfect, from the curls framing her face down to the stiletto heels that could double as weapons in a pinch.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Gwen laughed and swatted Morgana’s arm. “Merlin wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t a little bit scruffy. That’s part of his charm.”

“It is part of his charm, and so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Arthur put himself between his sister and his boyfriend, then carefully tugged Merlin’s tie askew again. He caught Morgana’s hand before she could try to straighten it. There were some battles worth fighting with her about, if only because he wanted to see the faces she made when he irritated her.

“Okay, children. Can we stop with the pulling at the things around my neck?” Merlin rolled his eyes and slipped out of Morgana’s-- and Arthur’s-- reach, putting Lance between himself and the rest of them.

“What are you doing that for?” Lance protested. “Do you really think I’m going to be able to hide you from Morgana?”

“You’re a good man,” Merlin said. “You’ll defend me.”

“You can’t hide from me forever, Merlin,” Morgana said. “I will find you, and I will straighten your tie!”

“Enough!” Arthur called out over the building noise. “If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late. You were hassling us about dawdling a minute ago, Morgana, and now you’re the one holding us up. Come on.” He made a shooing motion toward the door, and it sort of worked. Merlin stepped away, but Arthur thought it was only because he wanted to get away from Morgana.

“I’m going with Morgana. You boys can ride with Arthur,” Gwen said as she gave Lance a quick peck on the cheek and grabbed her coat.

“Why?”  Lance asked. He tried to return the kiss, but Gwen moved too fast and he nearly collided with Merlin.

“So we can gossip about you all, of course,” Morgana said matter-of-factly. She grabbed her coat and hurried out the door with Gwen hot on her exquisitely high heels. “Now hurry up!”

Lance shook his head and shrugged into his coat. “I really don’t know about Morgana sometimes. I’m amazed you’ve made it this long without throttling her.”

“Years of practice. I think I can put up with just about anything, thanks to her.” He tossed his keys to Merlin. “Go on ahead and get the car started, would you? I just remembered something I need. Won’t be a minute.”

“One minute. That’s it,” Merlin said. He kissed Arthur on the cheek on his way out the door. “Hurry up!”

“I’ll be right there,” Arthur said, then retreated back to the kitchen where he’d left his briefcase. Merlin never bothered it. He found Arthur’s work entirely too dull and full of numbers to bother with the files, even when they were spread out across the table or the couch. He’d just work around them until the room was a patchwork of drawings and financial documents. It was why his briefcase was the perfect place to hide things from Merlin.

Arthur pulled the little box out of the case and flipped it open, just to be sure it was all right. It was; the titanium ring nestled snugly in place, the row of inset diamonds sparkling even in the faint light. _‘Be brave, Arthur._ ’ He snapped the box shut and tucked it in his pocket. His stomach started fluttering at the thought of The Question he was going to ask Merlin tonight.

Arthur never doubted his own heart or the wisdom of what he was about to do. He knew what-- who-- he wanted, and that was Merlin. He’d never truly looked at another man before Merlin came into his life, and hadn’t looked at anyone else when they’d been apart. Sometimes it felt as if they’d just met yesterday and were still all thumbs and four left feet, dancing around each other like shy teenagers. Other times, it was like they’d been together for a lifetime, with all their sharp edges and doubts worn away to nothing. But they were always comfortable together, even in their awkwardness.

He knew his own heart, and he knew what Merlin’s answer would be.

“Arthur?” He looked up and found Merlin watching him from the entryway, a blue-eyed angel framed by darkness. “We’re going to be late,” he said, reaching a hand out to Arthur.

“Sorry,” he said as he took Merlin’s hand. “I had to get something.”

“What was it?”

“A surprise,” Arthur said.

Merlin grinned. “Am I going to like it?”

“I think you’ll like it very much,” Arthur said, and kissed him. “Now let’s get going, love. Everyone’s waiting.” He squeezed Merlin’s hand and led him outside. To the car, and to the future where everything was full of light.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listen to a lot of music while I write, and I often put together playlists to go along with my stories. I hope you enjoy this list.
> 
> The River - PJ Harvey  
> Roads - Portishead  
> Michael - Gem Club  
> Everywhere - Susie Suh  
> Pagan Poetry - Bjork  
> Comfort and Joy - Tori Amos  
> Trouble - Hope Sandoval and the Warm Inventions  
> Gone to Sleep (Acoustic Version) - Moby  
> To Whom it May Concern - The Civil Wars  
> Perfect Day - Lou Reed  
> When You Break - Bear’s Den  
> Hurt - Nine Inch Nails  
> How to Disappear Completely - Radiohead  
> Here With Me - Susie Suh and Robot Koch  
> Ghosts that We Knew - Mumford & Sons  
> A Beginning Song - The Decemberists


End file.
